Trouble
by Crowdreamer
Summary: AU version of "Beast's Obsession," starts off with the scene at the granary after Olivia shows up to rescue the girl, with an alternate ending. This is EO, so Elliot makes a reappearance.
1. Chapter 1

_**Author's comments:**__ Oh, I am evil. In all seriousness, I am a whore for rescue porn, and I always say that the worse the torture, the better the rescue. So this is an alternative ending for "Beast's Obsession." I titled it after the Coldplay song, which seemed a fitting theme, and it might be even more enjoyable reading it with the song playing. Enjoy._

**Trouble**

The dirt crunched under Olivia's feet as she approached the empty crumbling structure, their footsteps echoing the same as her heart inside her cavernous, dreading chest. Even as she wanted to vacate her mind of all thought, her years of police experience automatically kicked in, and she scanned her surroundings, even knowing that observation would not save her this time. Lewis had lured her into his web just as he had planned, and now she was marching with him to her doom.

The beastly spider beside her beamed his pleasure at his victory; she could feel it emanating from his body in the way his hand clutched her arm triumphantly. She avoided most of his rhetorical questions with silence, although she got a few jabs in when she couldn't stand his arrogance any longer. But she knew her verbal assaults on him were hollow—he had the upper-hand, and although he might drag it out, an unpleasant end approached.

"Having flashbacks?" he taunted her, and then launched into a discourse on PTSD, more for his own entertainment than anything.

Even as she tried to brush off his words, the flashbacks were happening as he said the words. Now they were on the bed with the iron frame, his hands groping at her pants as she tried to struggle out of his reach. The memories only lasted a second or two, but the tension in her muscles stayed with her, leaving her shoulders tense and legs weak.

They climbed relentlessly up several flights of stairs, rats scurrying on every level, until they arrived breathless on a floor where Lewis guided her forward with a push to a spooky place filled with cobwebs, and she knew this was the center of his web. He had the child, Amelia, hanging by her hands, and Olivia reassured the girl the best she could before Lewis forced her to an awaiting table. And then he gave her a choice.

It was a no-brainer, of course. Olivia could never live with herself if she allowed an innocent child to be brutalized by this monster. So she chose to be brutalized by him instead.

He handcuffed her to the table, and then stood behind her and began violating her boundaries, grabbing at her breasts, pulling her head roughly toward his so he could force his lips onto hers, and she shrunk into herself.

And her mind wandered elsewhere, lost somewhere in the clouds, as the fight drained out of her. Her body went limp as she gave up, and at first, he took advantage of her flaccid reaction and started to unzip her pants. But then he stopped, his hands still firmly planted on her waist.

"What, not even gonna put up a fight?" he said, disappointment oozing from his voice.

She didn't answer, just slumped on the table, all resistance having evaporated. Maybe he would give up too, but he wasn't going to just let her go—this she knew.

A lighter flicked behind her, and she heard him exhale shortly before a waft of cigarette smoke passed under her nostrils. For what seemed like a century, the room stood still, the only sound in it the heavy breathing from the little girl. Olivia lay there, not wanting to turn around to see what Lewis was up to.

"You're not going to just play dead and ruin my fun," he said.

She gulped as she felt the back of her shirt sliding up, Lewis' hand brushing her skin in the process. Her heart pounded as if she was racing in a marathon, and then she felt something digging square between her shoulder blades. It took a few seconds for the burning to shoot up through her nerves, finally registering in her brain as the end of the lit cigarette.

Biting her lip, she fought hard not to react, but she couldn't help but let out a small grunt. She caved her back to escape the pain, but the sting of the hot ember followed her. He had burned her the last time too, and it had hurt, but he had always used it as a prodding tool to get a reaction out of her before he moved onto the next bit of torture. This time, he kept the cigarette against her skin impossibly long, and she began to pant uncontrollably, letting out muffled cries between her teeth.

And then it stopped.

"That's better," he said, his voice oozing with satisfied pride. "Now let's keep up that liveliness while we get down to business."

Fearing the lit end of his favorite torture implement, she stood as tall as she could manage, still unmoving, but no longer limp, as he undid first her pants, and then his, and jerked them all down in a few gleeful sweeps. She closed her eyes. A lonely tear slid out of one eye as she recalled that, even though she had suffered the last time, she had been grateful of escaping this, the worst of fates short of death.

He must have noticed her reaction, because his cheek pressed up against hers as he said, "Aw, don't cry. Not yet anyway. Don't worry—you don't have to miss out this time."

And then he yanked down her panties, one of his nails scraping her leg in his haste. "Spread your legs," he commanded, but she couldn't will herself to comply. "Do it!" he yelled, and she flinched.

When she still didn't obey, he said with sarcasm, "Oh, well I guess you're going to make me work for it after all. That's okay."

She wanted to throw up as he pried his hands between her thighs and forced them apart like a wench, and then shoved a knee in between them to keep them from closing up again. "Oh, you're strong," he said, grabbing a handful of her breast now. "I don't get many challenges like you."

And then she did want to fight, because she didn't want to go through with it. But try as she might to flail her legs and kick at him, he had her pinned with the weight of his chest on her back, and after a few failed attempts, he finally got what he wanted. Anything but gentle, he shoved himself into her with all his might, and it hurt—even worse than she had imagined it would.

She opened her eyes wide in alarm, because not only did it feel like a knife was impaling her, she also couldn't breathe with his weight on top of her. She wanted to say something, to tell him, but she couldn't get enough air into her lungs to speak, and she thought telling him might just turn him on even more. And so she did the only thing she could—she escaped her body with her mind, noticing a wooden post in the corner of the room and floating to it, dissociating from the horrible things being done to her over the next several minutes.

As she began to wonder what would happen first—passing out or breaking a rib, the motion inside her stopped, and she thought maybe it was over. She began to pant to catch her breath as his weight lifted just a bit, and then she felt the cigarette dig into her back again, and she let out a full-on scream this time, unable to shield Amelia from the torture she was experiencing any longer. And then the stabbing inside of her began again, picking up momentum as he thrust even harder within her.


	2. Chapter 2

_**Author's comments:**__ My problem is that I don't have Beast's Obsession DVR'd (I did, but it's been erased somehow), but I didn't want to miss any details, so I bought the episode last night and watched it again. And then I realized that I already missed a few details, like the fact that he handcuffed one hand to the table and tied the other with a rope (oh well), and he had her legs duct-taped to the table as well. But I haven't heard any complaints so far, so I guess nobody noticed. _

**Trouble**

In the screen shot that caught Elliot's attention on Nick's computer monitor, Olivia looked annoyed, her hand partially blocking her face while she brushed back a chunk of hair. It was one of the few pictures he had seen of her, because she avoided having them taken, saying she feared that the camera might catch a glimpse into her soul. In this one, her hair was shorter, and although he had seen her various styles over the years, somehow this time it was as if she was Samson, giving away her power along with the chopped off locks.

All these years, he had avoided her, telling himself that she didn't want to see him because of the distance he had created after leaving SVU and New York, and he had even convinced himself that he was done with her too. But oh, what tangled webs he had weaved—especially when he had deceived himself into thinking that he didn't love her, at least not in _that _way.

And so, he had conveniently dropped her from his thoughts, the best he could, anyway, and moved on with his life, working as a corrections officer in a prison near L.A. But after Kathy left him for good, complaining because he immersed himself into his work sixty to seventy hours a week, he began to remember. And the remembering became painful once the distractions of a marriage no longer took up space in his life.

But that made him work even harder—trying to forget Kathy _and _Olivia, spending every waking moment at the prison, hoping that no time for reflection would seep through. And he had succeeded at keeping Liv out of his mind, until he saw her on the news. The image of her sober confession had trickled all the way across the nation, until it made it to his television set, and he just about dropped his beer when he saw her standing there, in uniform, talking about events he knew nothing about.

Of course he had to search for answers. But he couldn't just pick up the phone and call her after all these years—or worse, fly out there on the spur of the moment and just show up at her doorstep like a homeless dog. She may not even want to talk to him.

So instead, he called someone else who might be a little more receptive.

"Fin," he said into the phone.

"El?" Fin's voice radiated disbelief. "I didn't recognize the number you're calling from. Where you at?"

"Hey, man. I'm in L.A."

"What the heck you doin' out there, bro?"

"Nevermind all that. Long story. I just saw Olivia's statement on the news."

Elliot's stomach dropped as Fin began to tell him the events that took place once William Lewis entered Olivia's life. "And then she just called, four days later," Fin continued. "She was pretty beaten up—her face was all dinged up from being cold-cocked with a gun, and he burned her with cigarettes. Pretty brutal. Not only that, but he also made her watch as he raped and killed a bunch of people."

"Oh my God," said Elliot, fists clenched, and he felt like he might throw up at the thought of what Lewis had done to her. "How did she get away?"

"Well, that's where we get the conflicting stories—his version and hers."

"He's lying, of course," Elliot said, trying to keep his voice in check as he felt the anger rising into his face.

Fin told him every detail of the trial, and then everything that had happened the past few days after Lewis escaped, and that Olivia and some stand-in sergeant were looking for Lewis right now. It sickened Elliot to think that she had gone through all this alone—although he guessed Brian had been there for her through parts of it. He didn't know whether to be grateful or jealous, but it didn't matter now, because Cassidy was out of the picture.

"I'm coming out there," he said.

"To do what? You're not a detective anymore, not much you can do to help."

"At least I could be there for moral support," said Elliot, his mind already made up, even though he might end up right back on a plane home, depending on how Olivia received him. Or whether she would even talk to him at all. "But Fin," he said, "don't tell Liv. She might try to talk me out of it."

Elliot had caught a flight only two hours after the conversation with Fin, but by the time he marched into the squad room, Liv had slipped away from her protective detail. The news sent Elliot into a flurry of mental activity, wondering where she had gone to get Lewis (because he knew that's what she was doing) and how much danger she was in. If this guy was half as crazy as they all said he was, Elliot wondered if he had come too late, if he had missed his chance to see her before she met some horrible fate.

But he couldn't obsess about that—he knew Liv was smart too, and he had to hope and trust that she knew what she was doing. So he waited by his old desk, now Nick's, and stared at her picture, waiting for some word. He sighed and looked down at his hands. If only he was able to contribute to the search in a more meaningful way, but he didn't have access to the databases or files anymore.

"Coffee?"

Elliot looked up to find Nick standing over him with a steaming cup in his outstretched hand.

"Yeah," said Elliot quietly, taking it from him.

Nick sat down at his desk. "You know, Olivia's told me a lot about you. She'll be happy to see you."

'_If we find her,'_ thought Elliot. "Thanks," he said to Nick. "I'm not so sure though, the way I just took off without even saying goodbye."

Nick shook his head and looked down at some papers on his desk. "Oh, I don't know. Time makes people more forgiving. And I know she's never forgotten about you."

Elliot thought he sensed something in that last statement, a bit of wistful mourning over something that Nick couldn't have, perhaps. His thoughts were interrupted when Sergeant Murphy burst out of his office. "They traced Olivia's cell phone. Let's go."

But when Elliot got up to go with them, Murphy stood in his way. "No, sir. We can't have any civilians along, even if you _are_ an ex-cop. Too risky."

Elliot puffed out his chest and stood too close to the man. "I'm not just an ex-cop, I was her partner for twelve years."

Nick intervened. "Murphy, he's got a point, he may be able give some insights into her thought processes. He can ride with me."

Murphy's eyebrows lowered, but he said, "I don't have time to argue right now." Pointing a finger in Elliot's face, he said, "Just stay out of the way, and no grandstanding."

"Yes, sir," said Elliot, picking up his jacket, in which he had concealed his old service revolver.


	3. Chapter 3

_**Author's comments:**_

**Trouble**

**Chapter 3**

Part 1.

Trying to distract herself, Olivia noticed the quiet. No birds sang, no trucks roared nearby, even Amelia stayed silent. The only audible sound was the slapping of Lewis as he slammed into her repeatedly, and the undercurrent of her own labored breathing.

And then she began to notice something—as hard as Lewis pounded, his erection began to soften, and she closed her eyes and sighed.

And then she had to open her big mouth and taunt him. "What's the matter, Lewis? Can't handle a real woman?"

Before she could say anything else, he yelled, "Shut up!"

Too late, she realized what a mistake she had made as he stopped to light another cigarette. "Oh, man, how I wish I had a hot stove right now," he scowled.

She was grateful he didn't, but her hairs still stood on end at the sound of her own screaming as he reached around in front of her and plunged the lit cigarette into her breast, and then dragged it several inches across her skin. Now he held the ember in one spot for what seemed like several minutes, and she squirmed, trying to buy even the slightest bit of relief.

When he finally pulled the torture implement away, she blinked back tears, and it was only then that she realized his erection had returned.

"Oh, yeah," he sighed with satisfaction. "That's so hot." And then he chuckled at his own pun as he continued on his mission to strip her of every ounce of dignity.

She cried. As hard as she tried not to, the tears came, and they kept coming, until his rocking motion accelerated and he let out a long, hard groan at his own climax. "So good," he said, laying on her with all his weight again, stroking any part of her body that was handy to him in that moment, causing pimply goose-bumps in his wake. "Your skin is so soft," he whispered into her ear. Then he added with faux surprise, "You're trembling."

She was, too. She was a trembling, crying mess, and she tried to tell herself to get it together so she could deal with whatever came next.

"You got what you wanted," she croaked feebly. "Now let the girl go."

"Not just yet." And then he stood suddenly, jerking away from her as he yanked on his pants. "Well, that was nice," he said with a grin. "Now, a new game. My rules."

He un-cuffed her right hand, and she stood as tall as she could with her other hand still attached to the table. With her free hand, she mindlessly tried to pull up her pants, but Lewis stopped her, batting her hand away. "Uh-uh," he said. "I want them to discover you in the most shameful way possible."

With that proclamation, he yanked her pants and underwear all the way down, and tugged at them until they came completely free from her feet. Then he retrieved two guns, an automatic and a revolver, and loaded one bullet into the latter, spinning the chamber with great fanfare. And he proceeded to tell her the rules of the game.

Part 2.

"Dammit!" said Elliot as he kicked the tires of the squad car. They had arrived at the quarry to find no Olivia, but her phone and bullet-proof vest had been discarded there among the rubble. He rubbed his face. "He took her somewhere else."

"She could be anywhere," said Nick, running his hand over the back of his head.

"Everybody calm down," said Murphy. "Let's head back to the station so we can figure out where to go from here. There's got to be a lead somewhere—this guy's gotta make a mistake sometime."

"This is bullshit," said Elliot, pacing now. "I'm not gonna sit around in the office and just wait. We've got to comb this whole area."

Fin touched him on the arm, and the action did calm him for a moment. "El, Lewis is smart. He's not likely to stay in the same area."

Elliot looked him directly in the eye, almost giving in to the words, but some spark of obsession fired within him and he couldn't hold back anymore. "No. No, I have to go look. I'll tear this entire town apart if I have to."

"Yeah, with what?" said Murphy, fire in his eyes. "You have no car, no radio, nothing. I want to find them just as bad as you do, Elliot. But I'm still in charge here, and we do things my way."

In Elliot's stubborn head, those were fighting words, and he eyed the squad car that Nick had driven. He made his decision, bolting from the group of detectives and straight for the car, knowing the keys were still in it. The car was still running, and before anyone could reach him, he put it into drive and sped off.

He knew he could be sitting in a jail cell soon for stealing a police car, but right now he only cared about one thing—finding Olivia. If he had any say whatsoever in the matter, he was going to get to her before Lewis could destroy her.

And then a voice came over the car's radio to report that the car Lewis had last stolen had been spotted by the harbor patrol, and Elliot turned on the red lights and sped to the abandoned property like a bat out of hell.

Part 3.

As Lewis held the revolver to his own temple, Benson held her breath, torn between wanting the gun to go off so this could all be over with and not wanting to see yet another person's head blown off. She flinched as the gun clicked, and Lewis slid the gun over to her.

She suddenly felt exhausted, too tired to even lift the gun to her own head. But Lewis threatened to kill the girl if she didn't comply, and so she forced her shaking hand to grab the gun's grip and hold it to her temple. She closed her eyes, as if that would make anything better, and trembled so hard that she almost dropped the cold piece of steel.

Lewis prodded her a couple more times with threats that he would kill Amelia, and as she felt herself slowly pulling the trigger, she recognized that this might be her last living moment. The click echoed in her head as her body instinctively jerked away from the gun, and it took a second for her to realize that she was still alive.

Lewis nearly had to pry the gun out of her hands, as her fingers remained stiffly wrapped around it. He raised it to his temple again, and images began to flow through Olivia's head—memories of her childhood, her college days, her years at SVU, the day her mom died. Her mom—she wondered if there was an afterlife, and if she would see her mom there.

Lewis pulled the trigger again, and when the disappointing click rattled in her ears, her heart jumped. She gulped as he slid the gun to her once more.

And then the whoosh of a helicopter interrupted the deranged game, and Lewis' eyes locked onto hers, but they did not betray any disappointment. "Well, let's let them join," he said, switching on her radio.

Part 4.

Elliot had made it to the site before anyone else, and he sprang from the car and into the abandoned building as a helicopter swirled overhead. And then a man's voice came over his radio, saying, "I have Detective Benson here with me, and we're playing a game of Russian Roulette. It's her turn."

"Oh, shit!" said Elliot, scrambling throughout the first floor of the building to find it empty. He bounded up the stairs, waiting anxiously for the ring of a gunshot.

Part 5.

The air seemed to swoosh around her, the walls of this open-air prison swirling as she picked up the gun, and she thought she might faint. Maybe it would be for the best if she did—she wouldn't have to be present for her own death. But she still had one more shot at this, and they may just find her before this macabre game was over.

She placed the barrel securely against her temple, gritting her teeth in preparation. Muscles in her abdomen stiffened, and a far off rumble from a truck on the distant highway made her jump. Biting her lip, she thought of Elliot, how she may never see him again, and jerked the cold metal trigger until it clicked.

Lewis took the gun from her, and this time she couldn't help but root for the image of his head exploding before her, because if it didn't, these would be her final memories. She gulped, waiting for the explosion to fill the empty chambers of the building. Instead, a dreadful click resounded, and her body began to tremble uncontrollably. She swallowed hard several times as Lewis approached her, and her legs became so weak that she wondered how she was even standing.

As if already dead, she could no longer feel anything—she could not even taste the salt from the tears that wet her dry, chapped lips. '_Goodbye, world_,' she thought. '_Elliot, I hope you know how much I loved you. I wish I could have told you._'

Squeezing her eyes shut, she saw flashes of images of him from various times they had spent together, hoping that she wouldn't forget them after death. And then she just wanted Lewis to get it over with, because as scary as a gunshot to the head was, waiting for it was the worst torture she had endured.

"Oh, no you don't," said Lewis. "You need to see this. Keep your eyes open."

She forced them open, and Lewis stood in front of her with the gun pointed straight ahead, right at her forehead. She watched his finger as it slid onto the trigger, and her body tensed as she waited for him to squeeze it.

"Game over," he said. "Say goodbye, Olivia."


	4. Chapter 4

_**Author's comments:**_

**Trouble**

**Chapter 4**

An explosion like dynamite rocked Olivia's eardrums, and the world went dark. She could no longer feel her body, and flashes of images flooded her, of people she knew—Fin and Cragan and Nick and Munch and Amanda and Murphy. And Elliot, how she would miss Elliot.

"Olivia!" A voice sounding much like Elliot's woke Olivia from her trance, and she realized that the only reason the world went dark was because her eyes were closed. Opening them, she saw that Lewis was no longer standing in front of her, and then she noticed his unmoving body lying on the floor. Blinking, she thought it odd that her entire body was numb, almost as if she didn't have arms and legs and other parts she had taken for granted in the past.

"Liv," said the voice again, and Olivia turned her head toward it, and then flinched when she realized there was someone rushing to her, someone whose face she had given up on ever seeing again.

"Elliot?" she rasped, wondering if she really was dead and this was some sort of post-mortem hallucination. And then it hit her—Elliot's gun had gone off before Lewis could finish pulling the trigger of his own.

"It's me. I'm here," said Elliot, busily scanning her for any major wounds, and then settling his gaze with furrowed brow upon her face. "Are you hurt? There's blood—"

She shook her head. "Must be from Lewis. I'm okay."

Turning to him without realizing her hand was still cuffed to the table, her knees buckled and she began to go down, but Elliot caught her in his arms. "I got you," he said gently. "Easy . . ."

Now the feeling started to come back to her legs, but they trembled weakly like pudding, and she couldn't stand. Elliot lowered her to the ground. "I'm going to set you down here so I can un-cuff you."

He went about his business fumbling for keys, and a mouse-like voice called out to her, "Olivia, can I open my eyes now?"

"Amelia," said Olivia, and then she mumbled to Elliot, "Go help her down." She called out to the girl, "Yes, honey. Just don't look to your left."

Elliot disobeyed her long enough to unlock the handcuffs, and then he touched her face and said, "You okay?"

She nodded, and he dashed away from her for a few minutes, presumably to untie Amelia. Olivia breathed a sigh of relief as she leaned back against the leg of the table. At least one good thing had come out of her self-sacrifice.

As she listened to Elliot soothing Amelia, she rubbed her wrist where the handcuff had rubbed a raw spot. And then he was back at her side, squatting next to her with her pants in hand. Her face flushed as she remembered that she was still naked from the waste-down, and she fumbled around trying to get the damn things on her sensationless legs.

"Here, let me help," said Elliot, as he took charge of the project. Too weak to protest, she let him perform the most basic of tasks for her—getting dressed.

The two of them managed to pull up the slacks around her waist, and Elliot rested a patient hand on her back as she stumbled around with shaking hands to button them. "What . . . what are you doing here?" she said.

"Don't worry about it," he said, rubbing her back. "We'll talk about it later."

When she was done, Elliot sat on the ground facing her and said softly, "You sure you're okay?"

Unable to meet his eyes with her own, she stared down at her hands and nodded. "I'm fine," she croaked.

He stuck his index finger under her chin and lifted it so that their eyes were level, and she finally allowed her gaze to meet his. When she saw the shock and concern reflected in his eyes, it was too much for her to take, and her face scrunched up as she allowed the sobs to finally catch up with the rest of her quivering body.

Elliot pulled her head to his shoulder and cradled her in his arms, stroking her hair as she wet down his shirt with her tears. And then a clatter interrupted the brief moment of quiet as footsteps resounded on the stairs. Suddenly Olivia became very tired, not wanting to move from this spot to deal with the aftermath of her horrific ordeal.

But Elliot stood, pulling her to her feet as he did. "Can you walk down the stairs?" he said as he grasped her around the waist, and she nodded feebly as she put her arm around him and took a few shaky steps toward the exit.

Nick greeted them first, his eyes widening at her appearance. He tried to put his arm around her shoulder and escort her, but Elliot would have none of it, and he tightened his grasp on her waist, saying, "I've got her."

Olivia avoided people's eyes as they ascended the stairs, but she saw the flurried and frenzied faces of Amanda and Fin, and then Murphy. The sergeant stood facing her and reached out to rest a hand on her arm. "Benson, are you hurt?" he asked.

"I, uh . . ." she said, not knowing how to answer that question. Refusing to meet his gaze, she stared at the stairs just beyond him, wishing she could skip all this. She put on her most professional voice, but it was raspy from screaming and the words came out shaky. "Not badly, no. Lewis is dead, Elliot shot him just as he was about to take me out. Amelia's alive and uninjured."

"Okay," he said, and she wished his voice didn't sound like he was talking to a child. "There's an ambulance waiting downstairs. Why don't you go down there and get checked out, and I'll meet you at the hospital."

"Okay." She wanted to just follow his directions and leave, but she knew there was one more thing to tell him so that the forensics team would know what to look for. She started to speak, and he gave her his full attention. "Also, he raped—" she said, the words catching in her throat. Elliot gave her a sympathetic squeeze, and she got up the courage to finish. "He raped me."

Murphy's mouth opened, but he didn't say anything. Brushing past him before he could think of some compassionate way to console her, she wiped away a tear. She could only take one step down the stairs before her legs gave out and Elliot had to catch her again. "Here, let me . . ." he said, and before she could protest, he swept her up into his arms and was carrying her down the stairs like a groom with his bride after some sort of perverted wedding ceremony. She buried her face into his shoulder and closed her eyes, trying to stay numb so she wouldn't have to remember.


	5. Chapter 5

_**Author's comments:**_

**Trouble**

**Chapter 5**

Part 1.

Paramedics swarmed Olivia as soon as Elliot got her out of the building. Vehicles with flashing lights filled the parking lot, and Elliot made his way through them like a maze and sat her down on the edge of the back of the ambulance. Someone wrapped a blanket around her, but she still shivered as if her insides were filled with ice water.

"Are you Olivia?" said one young dark-haired medic as he shone a light in her eyes. Distracted, she didn't notice much about him, except the coldness of his fingers on her skin.

She nodded, and he said, "My name's Brad. Where are you hurt?"

She hadn't seen his hand reaching down to examine a burn mark on her neck, and she flinched. "Sorry," he said, pulling his hand away. "I'm just going to look at it, okay?"

"Yeah," she said, watching Elliot as he observed her, folding his arms so he could rest his fingers on his chin. "No m-major injuries," she stuttered, having a hard time keeping her teeth from chattering. "There's some more b-burns."

"I can treat them here, or . . ."

She shook her head, not wanting another strange man groping her right now. "It can wait 'til we get to the hospital," she said quietly.

Nick drove, and Olivia sat in the back, Elliot climbing in next to her. She leaned against him, resting her head on his shoulder, and he wrapped his arm around her. They sat that way in silence the rest of the trip—no words needed to be exchanged between them at that moment, and Olivia didn't have the energy for a lengthy conversation at any rate.

She took a deep breath when they arrived at the hospital, knowing that the process that lay ahead was sometimes re-traumatizing. Elliot helped her out of her car and squeezed her arm as she paused before staggering to the wheelchair Nick had brought. The hospital overwhelmed her, with all the whirling of activity and despairing souls with their various illnesses and injuries. It all went by in a blur, until the admitting nurse dumped them in a corner with only a bed and a curtain to separate her from the outside world.

She tugged on Elliot's arm, and he bent over to hear her. "Do I—Do I have to go through all this?"

He rested a hand reassuringly on her arm. "All what? You need to get your injuries treated."

"I mean—" she gulped, "the rape kit."

Now Elliot squatted in front of her, realizing the seriousness of her question. "It's your decision, but I think you should, so nobody can question anything later. You know you can't go back and have it done later."

She nodded. "I know." Then she paused, and whispered, "Okay."

A hand swept the curtains back with great fanfare, and a plump, middle-aged nurse with red hair in a curly up-do swept in, barely glancing up from her clipboard as she said, "Detective Benson?"

"It's Sergeant," corrected Elliot.

The nurse looked up long enough to glare at Elliot, and then she said, "I'm Rhonda. So it looks like we're going to start on a rape kit." She plopped an ugly flowered hospital gown on the bed and said, "Take off all your clothes and put these on."

"I can go get you some clothes from your place," said Nick. "I still have the key."

Elliot shot Olivia a questioning look, but Olivia ignored him and said, "That would be really nice. Thank you, Nick."

"No problem."

Elliot appeared un-phased, and he said after a pause, "I'm going to go get coffee."

Olivia knew this was his way of giving her privacy, and although she appreciated the gesture, she wished she didn't have to be left alone. The nurse left too, and Olivia stripped off the wretched clothes that she knew she would never see again, once they became a part of the rape kit.

The nurse returned after what felt like an eternity, and Olivia sat on the exam table as Rhonda began to take vital signs. Then she shoved Olivia's soiled clothes under a clipboard on a rolling cart. A blood pressure cuff securely wrapped around her arm, Olivia said meekly, "Shouldn't those clothes go in an evidence bag?"

Rhonda's eyes widened and her cheeks flushed. "Maybe you would like to take over?"

"Sorry," Olivia said, averting her eyes. "I'm just—I work for SVU, and I wouldn't want anything to get contaminated."

Rhonda rested one hand defiantly on her hip and said, "Have patience, honey. We're getting to it."

Feeling too vulnerable for a confrontation, Olivia looked away and hoped Elliot would get back soon. He didn't disappoint, and was standing at the entrance with a steaming cup in his hand before the exam could begin. Olivia closed her eyes, focusing on his presence as she steeled herself for the prodding.

Part 2.

_Rape. _Elliot was having a hard time connecting the word with reality. Olivia had the all-too familiar glazed stare Elliot had seen hundreds of times on the faces of victims, so he doubted that she was even in a state of mind to process what had happened to her. But Elliot had nothing but time and comfort to give to her right now, and some of the time was too abundant, allowing the brutal reality to settle in his gut.

He had not just left her to get some coffee. There were actual tears beginning to form in his eyes when he saw her terror-stricken face after she realized she was going to have to take off her clothes, and he had to leave so he could shed those tears without her seeing. The sight of her pant-less, bound to a table with a gun to her head while she shivered in fear had broken his heart into pieces. If only he had gotten there sooner. . .

And now this nurse was acting kind of bitchy, and it irritated him. The woman roughly pulled down Olivia's shirt to administer medication to a nasty burn that stretched across her chest. "I—I can go in the other room," offered Elliot.

The nurse hastily ran a cotton swab over the burn, and Olivia's eyebrows knitted together in pain as she sucked air in through her teeth. "No," she said, looking up at him pleadingly. "Please stay, El." With that, she held out her hand for him to take.

"Of course," he said, stepping forward so he could hold her outstretched hand in his.

"I'm going to look at the ones on your back," said the nurse, coarsely pulling down Olivia's gown in the back. One burn in particular looked awful to Elliot, cavernous and black like it went deep into her skin. But he kept himself from reacting, balling his fists and silently cursing Lewis beyond the grave instead.

Olivia arched her back, trying to suppress a groan as the cotton swab made contact with the burn. "Easy," said Elliot to the nurse.

Rhonda ignored him and proceeded to collect samples from under her fingernails. "Okay, time for the worst part," she said. Turning to Elliot, she pointed to the curtain. "You should go."

But Olivia had other plans, and she clasped onto his arm with a death grip. "No," she said emphatically.

But Rhonda persisted, saying, "I've found these things go better when the victim is alone."

Heat rose to Elliot's face as he said, "I've worked with _victims _for twelve years, and the choice is hers. I'm not going anywhere."

The nurse sighed and directed Olivia to lie down and put her feet in separate stirrups. Elliot stood at the head of the bed and watched her terrified face, giving her hand a squeeze for reassurance. He didn't dare look to see what the nurse was doing, but he could tell something was going on when Olivia started panting. "Take deep breaths," he said gently.

She tried to slow her breathing, but then her fingers dug into his palm and she arched her back and squeezed her eyes shut.

"Oowww—stop!" she said.

"Just a little longer, hold on," said Rhonda.

Olivia started kicking her feet in the stirrups and moaning in an ever-increasing pitch of desperation.

"Stop for a minute," Elliot said to the nurse. "She wants to stop."

"She needs to stop squirming," said Rhonda. "I can't do this with her moving around."

Elliot began to raise his voice. "Obviously, it's hurting her. Can't you at least give her a break?" He turned around to look at Olivia again, who was staring at the ceiling, a tear meandering down her cheek. He reached up to brush it away, and then stroked her hair to calm her down. "It's okay, Liv. Just hang in there."

The testy nurse huffed out of the exam area, returning just a couple of minutes later with a brawny guy in scrubs by her side. She directed the man, "You need to hold her feet while I finish this exam."

Like a reflex, Olivia drew her legs up to her body, and Elliot's chest began to tighten. "Oh, no you're not," he said forcefully. "You need to get someone else to do this."

The nurse glared at him, and then gave a knowing glance to the man in scrubs, who started to reach for Olivia's legs. "Whoa there," said Elliot, grabbing the man's arm.

Elliot guessed the guy to be about 6'2", and fairly muscular, as if he worked out on a regular basis. But that didn't stop Elliot, who quickly wrestled the man's arm behind him to restrain him. "I'm calling security," said Rhonda, who darted from the room.

"You do that," called Elliot after her. "And while you're at it, I want to speak to the nurse in charge."

Rhonda came back with an entourage, the majority of them in security uniforms. Knowing when he was outnumbered, Elliot let go of the physician's assistant and put his hands up. Before any of the guards could advance toward him, he said, "Look, just tell this woman that we need someone different in here, or the patient is going to refuse treatment. They cannot force her to undergo an exam without consent, unless you want me to call the Manhattan PD to the hospital to have someone arrested for battery." After a moment of reflection, he added, "And she needs a real room, for privacy. Why do you have a sexual assault victim out in the open like this?"

One of the uniformed men looked at Olivia, who now had her blanket pulled up to her chin, her eyes wide in horror. The man said to her, "Is that what you want? You may have to wait a while."

"Yes," Olivia murmured, her jaw clenched.

"Alright," said the man sarcastically. Turning to the nurse from hell, he said, "Let's go."

After they left the exam area, Elliot returned to Olivia's side, sitting on the edge of the bed to face her. They locked fingers, her hand grasping at his like it was her last refuge on Earth. "I'm so sorry I let her act that way toward you," he said, and she dismissed his apology with a shake of her head. "You okay?"

"Yeah," she said, but he knew she wasn't. Pulling her to him so she didn't have to feel embarrassed about crying, he wrapped his arm around her neck and held her tightly against him, and she put her head against his and sniffled, "I'm so glad you're here."


	6. Chapter 6

_**Author's comments:**__ I'm really amazed at how the end of this scene made me tear up. I miss them more than I thought possible at this point in time. _

_ Oh, and—SVU is back on! Woohoo!_

**Trouble**

**Chapter 6**

Olivia fell asleep and hardly even noticed when they wheeled her into a room two hours later. When she woke up, she startled, trying to get her bearings. Someone came up from behind her, and she almost jumped out of her skin before she realized she got a good look at him.

"It's just me," said Elliot, reaching out a reassuring hand. She would have expected him to fall asleep in the chair next to her, but instead, he faithfully stood guard next to her bed.

Another, younger nurse with kinder eyes came into the room after an hour or so, waking Olivia from a groggy, nightmare-filled sleep. Although she seemed more compassionate, Olivia hoped she knew what she was doing, because temperament alone did not guarantee that she would be able to accurately take evidence.

The woman thumbed through the chart as Olivia rubbed sleep out of her eyes, reaching instinctively for Elliot's hand again. "Let's see how far they got," said the nurse, whose name was Ellie. "So did they ask you what happened? I don't see any details anywhere in the chart."

Olivia knew that medical personnel was supposed to get an account of the rape so they could know what evidence to look for, but she hadn't questioned the last nurse after the woman's belligerence. "No, I never got into that," Olivia said, wanting to just roll over and go back to sleep.

Nick appeared in the doorway with a bundle of her clothes in hand. "Sorry for interrupting," he said gingerly.

"It's okay, Nick," she said. "Come in." She sighed deeply, trying to make a decision. Then she gestured for Nick to come closer so she could tell him what was on her mind.

He furrowed his brows in confusion, and she said, "I'm . . . getting ready to tell the nurse what Lewis did. I want you to take my statement so I can get it all over with at once."

Nick puckered his lips in contemplation, and then said slowly, "Yeah, sure, Liv. Whatever you want."

She nodded, and then closed her eyes, trying to recount the facts without bringing back the memories, but each time she thought of another detail, there was a vivid image attached to it. "I was handcuffed to a table," she began, and the terror of being restrained washed over her again. "He pulled down my pants but not my shirt, and then he tried to . . . to get at me, but he couldn't get erect."

Elliot squeezed her hand as she continued. "This made him angry, and he burned me with a lit cigarette on my back, and later on my chest." Nick shuffled his feet, and Elliot placed his other hand over hers, stroking her skin with his thumb. "And then he raped me from behind," she said flatly, as if reciting a weather report, but a tear still managed to escape and roll down her cheek.

"Did you get any of his skin under your fingernails, or did any of his hair get on you?"

"Not that I know of."

"What's the blood from?"

It was then that Olivia realized Lewis' blood was still splattered on her face. "From the perpetrator. He's dead."

"Oh," said the nurse, and now Olivia expected her to ask why the hell she was there. "Okay, good to know. We'll proceed where we left off, and then you can clean off your face."

"I'll just . . . I'll step out now," said Nick, casting one last wondering look at Elliot as he left.

Every muscle in Olivia's body tensed up, but she willed herself to get into position again, and this time things went more smoothly. She clenched her teeth and focused on the feel of Elliot's hand on hers, and she managed to avoid seeing Lewis' grinning face too many times.

After all the evidence was collected, Elliot took a wet washcloth and ran it soothingly over her face. They let her step into a shower, and she closed her eyes and shivered as she washed Lewis' last vestiges from her body. Her head spun with exhaustion, and it took every bit of effort for her just to pull on her clothes and sit in a wheelchair.

Nick took her and Elliot to her apartment, and halfway up the stairwell, she had to lean heavily on Elliot, as she lifted one heavy, weary foot after another. They both came up to see her settled in, and she didn't protest. Then neither one of them wanted to leave.

Nick offered first. "If you don't want to stay at home alone tonight, I can sleep on the couch . . ."

"I'm fine, Nick," she insisted. "Go home."

And then he did something he had rarely done before—he gave her a hug, whispering into her ear as he did, "I'm only a phone call away. Call me if you need me, okay?"

The words caused her to tear up, and she choked them back and nodded as she pulled away. "I'll be alright," she said sincerely, and escorted him to the door.

Once he was gone, she turned her attention to Elliot and sighed. She wanted so desperately to talk to him, to catch up and ask all the questions that had burned in her mind for the last three years and counting. But now was not the time—she thought she might just drop if she stood any longer, and her brain could barely hold a thought, too haunted by horrible images.

"Here, come sit down," he said, patting her couch. "You need to rest." And then he went in her bedroom and came back, blanket in hand, and placed it gently over her.

"You don't have to stay either, El," she said, sincerely hoping he would veto her assertion.

He didn't fail her. "No, I'm staying," he asserted. "You go to bed, and I'll stay out here." When she didn't answer, he said, "It'll save me on a hotel room."

And it was settled.

"El?" she said, her voice barely audible.

He took a seat next to her on the couch, and they both stared straight ahead, preparing for the type of heart to heart they used to engage in. "Yeah, Liv?"

She could think of a million things she had wanted to say to him over the last few years—ways she had wanted to curse him out for leaving her without warning after twelve years of partnership. Now the only words that came to her were, "I missed you."

She started to choke up before the words even made it out, and he put his arm around her and pulled her close. She leaned her head against his shoulder, and he kissed her softly on the top of her head. Giving her arm a squeeze, he said, "I missed you too."

She snuggled into him, wanting to talk more but unable to keep her eyes open, and fell asleep in his arms.


	7. Chapter 7

_**Author's comments:**__ Alright, I finally got in my head which direction I want this story to go. Get ready, this is going to be intense (and keep reading)._

**Trouble**

**Chapter 7**

The song sounded familiar, and Olivia battled through a haze of half-sleep for several seconds before she sat up straight like a rocket, wide awake.

_Ev'ry morning, ev'ry Evening, ain't we got fun?_

_Not much money, oh but Honey! Ain't we got fun?_

Rubbing sleep from her eyes, she tried to figure out where the tune was coming from. Trodding clumsily across her living room floor, she realized for the first time upon awakening that Elliot was nowhere to be found. She scanned the room, searching for the source of the sound and any traces of El.

As she approached her coat, hanging on the back of a kitchen chair, she did a double take. The music emanated from it simultaneously with a familiar buzzing noise—her phone. She had never changed her ring tone—was this some sort of sick joke?

Goosebumps rising on the backs of her arms, she reached precariously into the pocket of her coat and retrieved the instrument, staring at it long enough to see word "Unknown" flash across the screen before pushing a button to answer it.

"Hello," she said in a monotone, ready to chew out whoever was on the other end.

Only silence met her.

Without bothering to repeat her greeting, she hung up and set the phone down hard on the kitchen table like it had burned her hand. Now it made a different, chiming sound, and she debated whether or not to pick it up. But she had to know who this was, so she could put a stop to such deliberate cruelty.

This time the message was in text form, and she clicked on it, hand shaking. "Come to the roof," it said. Olivia tilted her head to the side, wondering what the picture attached to it showed. The hairs on the back of her neck stood on end, but she touched the link to the picture.

Dropping the phone like a stone, she put her hand over her mouth. Impossible. Obviously it wasn't real. But she wasn't sure how someone could have doctored a picture of Elliot, bound and gagged, perched on the edge of a rooftop, wide-eyed in shock, with Lewis standing next to him, grinning like a hyena.

"No," she said aloud to the empty room, her head whirling into a tailspin, as if the ground had dropped out from under her. Forgetting all her training, she sprinted up the stairs to the roof of her apartment building. When she opened the door, Elliot was posed directly in her line of sight, sitting on the ledge with legs dangling, his hands duct-taped behind him.

Lewis stepped in next to him, pointing his gun nonchalantly at Elliot's head, peering at Olivia as he held it there. His eyes always had that wild-eyed crazy look typically pasted on the faces of every serial killer, and a shiver ran down Olivia's spine. Nevertheless, she stepped toward him cautiously.

"Let him go, Lewis, it's me you want."

He shook his head. "You never learn, do you Olivia. You know it's never just you and me." He held up his free hand in a shrug. "We can't be exclusive, now can we?"

As she took steps closer to him, she got about six feet away before he said, "No, stop right now. I know how much this guy means to you. Which is why—"

Lewis shoved Elliot hard, and Olivia lunged forward and yelled "Elliot!" at the same time he dropped out of sight over the edge of the building. "No!" she screamed, her hands flying up to her mouth.

She let out a primal screen and charged Lewis, knocking him over, and then she went to the edge of the rooftop and peered over. When she saw Elliot's body lying on the ground sixteen stories below, she began to wail, "No, no, no, no . . ."

"See, now there's no more reason for you to live anyway," said Lewis in a syrupy sweet voice as he got back on his feet. "Why don't you jump too?"

She cast one last tearful glance at him and stepped up on the ledge. Staring down at the concrete death awaiting her, she thought he was right. She had been raped and tortured, and the person who meant the most in the world to her was dead below her. She squeezed her eyes shut, preparing to join him.

"Liv! Get down!"

The voice came from behind her, and it sounded like Elliot. But that was impossible—unless . . .

"It's a dream," she said out loud. As soon as she did, things began to change—the air felt real, and she opened her eyes as she began to awaken. Rubbing sleep out of her eyes, her head started to clear.

"Olivia!" came Elliot's voice from behind her again, and she turned around in confusion. Had she been sleep-walking? The sleeves of her night shirt hung loosely, blown by a light breeze.

Elliot approached her cautiously, hands held out in front of him. "Just take it easy . . . Step down, Olivia."

Now she realized she stood higher than him by a couple of feet, and she looked around—and then gasped as she realized she really was balancing precariously atop the ledge on the roof. She closed her eyes and tried to slow her panicked breathing, holding her hands out at her side for balance.

Elliot was now directly in front of her, and he held his hands out in front of him as he said, "I've got you."

She leaned forward into him as he put his hands to her waist and lifted her down. With her feet planted firmly on the ground, she clutched him tightly, shuddering in the brisk wind.

Elliot pulled her into him, wrapping his arms around her protectively. "What were you doing out here?" he said, his voice trembling with apprehension.

"I—I was sleeping," she said, gulping. "I didn't realize—"

He gave her a squeeze. "Okay. You're okay now." And then he escorted back inside, never letting her go from his grasp.


	8. Chapter 8

_**Author's comments:**__ This one's short. I just wanted to have a nice moment before the trouble begins._

**Trouble**

**Chapter 8**

After Elliot escorted Olivia safely back into her apartment and onto the sofa, he refused to let her out of her sight. He poured her a glass of orange juice, saying, "After you fell asleep on the couch, I went into your bedroom to sleep." He handed her the juice. "And then I came in to check on you when I heard a noise, and you weren't in here. I'm glad I saw you as you went into the stairwell, or—" He shook his head. "No telling what would have happened."

"I'm sorry, El," she said softly, noticing now how he was wearing a pair of pajamas Brian had left behind. She wondered if it bothered him . . .

He sat down next to her. "It's okay—"

She looked him straight in the eyes so he would know she was telling the truth. "I didn't mean to—I really was asleep."

He caressed her arm. "It's okay, Liv. I know you wouldn't—"

"I would never—"

Their eyes met as understanding passed between them. Now Elliot looked toward the bedroom. "If it's okay, it would really make me feel better if we slept in the same room. I promise I won't—"

"I know," she said, touching his hand. She paused for a moment before saying, "And yeah, I think it would probably be best."

In silence, they made their way to the bedroom, where she lay down first, scooting over to make room for him. She faced away from him, but the bed made a soft sagging dint where he got in behind her. At first, neither one of them moved, and she could hear every breath from both of them, keeping one synchronous beat, with her heart accentuating the rhythm. But then he slipped his arm tentatively over her waist, and she pulled it around her belly for protection. He moved in closer, filling in the gap between them, and that was the last thing she knew before sleep came over her once more.

But as soon as daylight hit her face, she jumped out of bed, forgetting that it was Elliot in the bed next to her. He sat up as she caught her breath. "Liv, you okay?"

"Yeah," she said, embarrassed now. "I just thought . . . never-mind." She shook her head. "I'm sorry, Elliot."

"For what?" he said, sitting up in bed as she returned to crumple up next to him. His fingers found hers and intertwined with them, sending a tingle through her otherwise-numb body. "Getting a little spooked? It's fine."

"I know, I just . . ." She shook her head. Trying to change the subject, she said, "Does Kathy know where you are?"

Staring down at their interlocking fingers, he said, "We're divorced."

"I'm so sorry, Elliot," she said, noticing the deep well of emptiness in his eyes. She wanted to touch the corner of those eyes and take the pain away. But the wave of pity that washed over her was quickly tempered by a glimmer of guilty hope. She gave him a sympathetic frown along with a moment of silence, and then said, "So, why did you come here?"

What she really meant was "_Why, after all these years . . . _," but she didn't dare voice the implied resentment at this point. She didn't feel like her fragile heart could take one more ounce of conflict right now.

He answered her unspoken question anyhow. "I know I took off on you, without even so much as a goodbye, Liv." The corners of his eyes turned down as he squeezed her hand. "I've had a lot of guilt about that. It's just that . . . ," and then he looked her in the eyes, "I was afraid that if I saw you before I left that I would change my mind." He shook his head. "And I didn't know how I could face you, or anyone, after what I did."

"It wasn't your fault, El."

"But I felt like it was, and I couldn't even face myself, so I didn't want to face anyone else either." He paused, his eyes softening. "I'm sorry, Liv. I'm so sorry I left you all alone."

She leaned into him, hugging him tightly. "You're here now."

"I came back for you," he said, squeezing her back. "I'm sorry it wasn't sooner—none of this would have happened."

She pulled away, choking up as she said, "You're not going to leave me now, are you?"

"No," he whispered, wiping a tear from her cheek. He examined her face, as if realizing what he had left for the first time, and then he leaned forward and brought his lips to meet hers, softly pressing his mouth to hers in a gentle kiss. He rested his palm on the back of her head, pulling her to him until their foreheads touched. "I will never leave you again."

She closed her eyes, relishing the tingles on the back of her neck from his hand rummaging through her hair. "Please don't," she whispered, wondering how she would ever manage if he did.


	9. Chapter 9

_**Author's comments:**__ Sorry it's taking me so long to update—I'm usually faster. But I've got some crap going on at work that's stressing me out and making me want to go all Benson on some people's asses._

**Trouble**

**Chapter 9**

She had lied. Nothing really sounded good to her. But here she was, choosing bagels that she would probably never eat. Two days of being cooped up in her apartment was giving her a severe case of cabin fever.

And besides that, little things could send her up the wall. Things of which he was completely unaware. Things like Elliot throwing his set of keys on top of the stove, which had caused her to jump ten feet out of her skin, remembering the sound of metal clacking on porcelain when Lewis had heated keys on the gas burner.

"_Bagels sound good_," she had said.

"_Let me go with you_," he had insisted.

"_I'll be fine_," she had said. "_I need to get away_," she had asserted. "_The walk will do me good_."

His stare filled the silence. "_By the way, I like your hair._"

"_Liar_."

"_No, I really like it_," he had said, running his fingers through it, and then clasping a lock of it. For the first time since he rescued her, the simple act of affection had reminded her of Lewis, who had clutched her hair and yanked her head around for pure sadistic pleasure. The body memory sent her skin crawling and made her want to throw up.

"_You okay?_"

"_Yeah,_" she said, pulling away as she grabbed the keys off the stove while he cast her a perplexed look. "_I better get going._"

But if she thought her apartment reminded her of Lewis, noises, smells, and sights prompted her heart to race around every turn. A trunk slamming caused her to flinch, her head flying around wildly to find the source of the sound. A bike chain rattling against a metal bike rack brought her right back to the iron-framed bed to which Lewis had handcuffed her, and she had to blink back tears while she tried to slow her breathing down so she didn't hyper-ventilate. And now here she was, trying to concentrate long enough to choose a couple of bagels, but she couldn't force herself to focus. "Plain," she said, and the cashier shot her a sarcastic look for making him wait several minutes while she made her decision.

Now she scuttled home, passing down several lesser-travelled streets to avoid all the noise and bustle. But the circuitous route only increased her anxiety, because no witnesses could help her if something happened. She passed by an abandoned building, which brought her instantly to the abandoned factory where Lewis had raped her. A violent memory of him on top of her invaded her mind, raping her all over again, and now her heart fluttered and she couldn't catch her breath.

She rushed down the street, slowing down only when she saw a girl about twelve standing by a car, waiting for someone. As Olivia got closer, she saw that the vehicle was a black SUV, and a tall man with dark hair and a thick mustache came around to the driver's side and began to yell at the girl, who Olivia now assumed was his daughter.

She shook her head, trying to fight off memories of being handcuffed in the back of an SUV just like this one. As she passed within a few feet of them, the girl, who reminded Olivia of Amelia, stared wide-eyed in terror at her father, who continued his rant in a booming voice. "You never listen, ya little brat! I swear sometimes I just want to—" Without finishing his sentence, he grabbed her by the shoulders and began to shake her.

Something snapped inside Olivia. Ordinarily she might say something, but she wouldn't get more involved than that, knowing that what he was doing wouldn't warrant an arrest. But every muscle in her body tensed up in preparation for a fight, and she couldn't seem to stop herself when she veered toward him and said, "Hey! No! You can't do that—"

He turned toward her now and screamed, "Lady, you better get the hell out of here before I—" He got one hand up just enough to show that he meant business before Olivia, on autopilot, grabbed his arm and twisted it, simultaneously yanking him down just far enough to elbow him in the face.

The impact must have been harder than she thought, because he dropped to his knees and groaned in pain. Realizing what she had just done, she backed away and put her hands out in front of her, her wide eyes matching those of the young girl. And then she turned and trotted away from there.

A middle-aged woman who had been sitting on a nearby set of steps stood up when she saw the whole thing, and then yelled at her as she scurried past, "You go girl! Hey, wait—give me your name so I can tell the police what happened." Olivia didn't stop or even turn to look at the woman, who said, "Don't you even want credit for defending that poor girl?"

Olivia kept right on running until she got home, remembering how she had taken down some guy cat-calling to her on the streets after the last time Lewis got ahold of her. Exiting the elevator now, still panting, she saw that Elliot was headed her way. "Hey, where have you been? I was getting worried."

She held up the bagels, still too winded to say more than a few words at a time. "It's okay," she said between gulps of air. "I got them."

Elliot smirked. "Did you . . . run a 5k on the way?"

Without answering, she clasped his arm as they turned toward her apartment. Once inside, she set the bagels down and sunk heavily into the couch. "Seriously, you okay? You look kind of frazzled."

He dug into the bagels and retrieved two, slathering them with cream cheese. Then he handed her one, but she shook her head. "Not for me, thanks."

He sat down next to her, waiting for her to answer his question, but she got right up again, saying, "I need something a little stronger."

Fishing through her kitchen cabinet, she sighed when she found what she was looking for, and then pulled out a wine glass and a bottle of moscato. "Want some?" she asked, looking over her shoulder at him before pouring some for herself.

He shook his head. "I had a feeling it was too soon for you to venture out there alone," he said instead of answering. "Did something happen?"

She carried the full glass and the bottle to the coffee table and sat down next to him, gulping down almost a third of it before he could comment. "No, I'm just jumpy. But," she said, pausing to take another sip. "I was just as skittish sitting around in here."

He put his palm against her back and caressed her gently as she stared mindlessly at a speck of cork in her drink. "I don't know what I'm going to do," she said, shaking her head slowly. "I see Lewis everywhere."

"Are you ready to visit with your therapist again?" he said, massaging her neck with his hand.

"Yeah," she said, downing the rest of her glass and pouring another. "I already have an appointment. But you know, the one place I want to go is the one place I can't right now."

"Where's that?" he said, flashing a fretful look in her direction.

"Work."


	10. Chapter 10

_**Author's comments:**__ An update finally! I have a few days off, so…here we go!_

**Trouble**

**Chapter 10**

Part 1.

"You can't go back to work, Liv. You know that." Elliot protested a little too loud, and she knew that she had irritated him.

Sighing, she said, "I know, I know, Elliot." She downed her second glass of wine and poured a third, relishing the warmth it brought to her insides. Rising to stare out the window, she ran a hand through her mid-length hair. Even now, it was hard to get used to it, after adjusting to years of long, flowing locks. But Lewis had ruined even that for her—the missing inches left less for someone to use as a weapon.

"Policy says I have to take at least two weeks off, and I don't plan on going back on active duty right away when I go back—"

"You need to take more time than that," he interrupted, leaving a knotted ball in her gut.

She spun around to face him, almost spilling the wine in her hand. A wave of dizziness hit her while in motion, causing her to do a quick calculation in her head of the number of glasses she had consumed. Heat rose to her face, bringing her attention back to him. "You don't get to tell me when I can go back to work, Elliot. Nobody can tell me that, except maybe my therapist."

Elliot's eyebrows lowered, but his words stayed surprisingly level as he said, "Okay—I wasn't trying to—"

Her jaw clenched as she said, "In fact, you don't get to tell me anything after you abandoned me for so long."

Silence echoed throughout the room as her bleary gaze met his falling face, and he suddenly looked so very weary. But his voice remained steady as he said, "I guess I deserve that."

He rose to pace the floor, running a hand over the back of his head, and the sudden motion rattled her nerves. Somewhere in the back of her mind she knew she was over the top right now, but the rage contained within her spilled out, and she couldn't keep it in any more than she could pour her wine back into the bottle.

"You do deserve it," she said, nodding briskly. Her voice boomed, "You weren't here for me when I needed you the most, and look what happened."

He turned to face her, his eyes distraught as if she had stabbed him with a butcher knife. The sight of his distress pushed her fragile emotions over the edge, and she began to cry as she shouted, "I needed you, and you weren't there for me."

He didn't say anything, just waited for her to finish railing on him, and that somehow angered her even worse. She stepped toward him, raising her hand to shove his shoulder as she slurred, "Why weren't you there for me? You should have just left me to d—"

Closing her eyes, she swooned as the room spun around her in an uncontrollable free fall. Taking a step to catch herself, she put a hand to her head and mumbled, "I don't feel so good."

He rested his hand on her arm to steady her and said, "Are you okay?"

The nauseating whirlwind of the vortex created by her drunkenness overtook her, and she said, "I feel like I'm going to—"

And then she surrendered to the darkness, aware only of his arms catching her before she submitted to disturbingly sweet unconsciousness.

Part 2. 

"Liv," he said, catching her full weight before she could collapse to the floor. Picking her legs up with one arm, her back solidly resting on the other, he carried her like a child to the bedroom and laid her down like a rag doll on the bed.

"Liv?" He patted her face, and then rested a hand on her belly, watching her chest rise and fall, releasing one shallow breath after another. Sticking two fingers across her wrist, he counted the rapid beats while tracking sixty seconds on his watch. He exhaled a sigh of relief, deciding to wait it out and let her sleep off the alcohol. She had consumed almost the entire bottle of wine, but her vital signs indicated that she wasn't in any serious danger, although she would probably pay for her excesses when she awoke.

He wiped away a tear, recalling how her words had impaled him, hurting almost as much as the desperate anguish flashing in her eyes. "_You weren't here for me when I needed you the most, and look what happened_."

She was right, of course. Even though Lewis was the one who inflicted the actual physical and emotional damage, Elliot was just as guilty as if he had pulled the gun on her himself. Elliot liked to think that if he had been here when Lewis went free the first time, Lewis would have never been able to get his hands on Olivia.

But even if Lewis had still managed to kidnap and torture her like he did, that would have been it. Elliot would have been so livid that he would have had no choice but to finish Lewis off. And yet, here she was, suffering because he had failed to save her from being traumatized yet again.

Stroking her face with his hand, it struck him how much she resembled an angel, her dark, tousled hair shrouded by the pillow. How many times had this angel come to the rescue of blameless victims? But even heaven couldn't be bothered this time to save one of its own.

"I wasn't there for you, Olivia," he said wistfully, cupping her oblivious cheek in his hand. "But I'm here now, and I'm not going anywhere."


	11. Chapter 11

_**Author's comments:**__ At least she's honest._

**Trouble**

**Chapter 11**

Part 1.

"_I know this probably a violation of some ethics rule or something, but can I get a hug?_" she had asked as soon as she walked in.

"_Of course,_" he had said, moving in to encircle her with his arms before waiting for her to finish the sentence.

Clutching onto him like he was a child's favorite doll, she thought how Dr. Lindstrom was the last refuge for her. Even though he wasn't quite old enough to be her father, she had grown to care about him, and he had become somewhat of a replacement father figure for the one she never had.

After he pulled away, she had reluctantly gone and sat down in the chair across from him. She didn't want to talk at first, just wanted to bask in his protective presence. She felt safe here, and she couldn't say that about any place else.

But he had coaxed her to talk, and she ended up retelling the details of her rape, Russian roulette game, and subsequent rescue. She said it all without crying, as if reciting multiplication facts, her words coming in fits and starts, interrupted by long distracted pauses.

"I'm so sorry this happened to you." His voice contained a delicateness that she was familiar with at this point, but it soothed her nerves in a way nothing else could.

"And so, for the past few days, it's been rough. Even worse than last time," she admitted. His attentive eyes showed he was listening, the creases in his forehead deepening with concern. "I can't eat. And I've barely slept for several days. Nights are the worst." She got quiet for a moment, recalling the one bright point of her post-Lewis life. "Mornings are the best. As soon as daylight hits my face, and I wake up with Elliot next to me, I feel safe for a few minutes." She looked down at her hands. "But pretty soon I start to feel that walls-closing-in feeling again, and I get jittery, like I just can't stay in my skin one more second. I start to pace, and I have to get out of the house, but then every sound is like a hammer straight to my spinal cord."

"So what are you doing to cope?"

She gazed distantly at a painting on his wall. "Drinking."

He shifted in his chair, wrapping his hands over one knee. "And how is that working for you?"

She fiddled with her fingers. "Not well. I've been really belligerent with Elliot, and he's the one person who's been there supporting me this whole time."

Dr. Lindstrom tilted his head to the side. "Why do you think you're getting angry at him?"

She put one hand over her mouth, and then pulled it away and said, "After Brian and I split, I was all alone. I went through all this crap by myself. In fact, I've been alone most of my life." Now a few tears began to spill down her face. "Elliot was the only man in my life for twelve years, and then he just went away."

"You've had an absent father all your life, and now that pattern seems to be repeating. It's bringing up lifelong wounds."

She nodded through the tears. "You're right. Nobody's ever there for me, so it's hard to trust that anybody's going to stay."

"I bet that makes it hard to get close."

"Yeah," she whispered.

He shifted again, this time reaching for a pen and a prescription pad. "Alcohol's only going to make things worse. I'm going to give you a script for anti-anxiety medication, and some anti-depressants."

As he scribbled his signature, she said, "I think going back to work might help."

He looked up from his notepad. "Do you really think that's wise, with as much anxiety as you're feeling? It's only been a week and a half."

She pursed her lips together. "It's the only place I can get my mind off things."

Sitting back in his chair, he frowned. "I don't advise it, Olivia. Your symptoms are too severe right now. The last thing you need is to be in the line of danger again."

Breaths came out of her in hot huffs like a bull snorting. "Now you sound like Elliot. But _I_ have the final say in my life."

He puckered his lips, contemplating an appropriate response. "That may be so, but I can always make a recommendation to your superior officer that you not be approved for active duty."

Crossing her arms and legs simultaneously, she said, "And I can always find a new therapist."

She met his emphatic gaze with eyes of steel, and he said, "Why all the hostility, Olivia? I'm just trying to look out for your best interests. Isn't that what you said you wanted?"

She stood now, preparing to storm out the door, unable to face a confrontation with the person who was supposed to be her bastion of safety. "I'm so tired of people trying to control me in the name of protecting me."

As she turned toward the door, he stood too, catching up to her and lightly grasping her arm to stop her. She stopped without turning to face him. "You do whatever you want, Olivia. I just don't want to see you get hurt."

Hot tears burning her cheeks, she turned to see that his eyes showed no signs of anger, only soft compassion. Without having to ask, she leaned into him, and he sheltered her with his arms once more.

Part 2.

Elliot walked her home and waited patiently while she silently contemplated her session, with all its implications. The afternoon had been chilly, and he removed her jacket for her as soon as they arrived. As they made their way to the table to eat their dinner of Chinese take-out, she said, "Elliot."

He froze while taking a container out of a white paper bag and said, "What?"

Their eyes met. "I just wanted to say, I'm sorry."

"For what?"

"You know what," she said, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. "I've been a real asshole lately."

"No you haven't," he said, keeping his gaze on her while blindly removing the rest of the food from the bag. Then he shrugged, looking down to find the plastic silverware. "Well—maybe a little."

They both grinned. After finishing his preparations at the table, he turned to her, coming in close enough to rest a hand on her arm. "It's okay, Liv. It's understandable that you're a little jumpy after what happened."

She shook her head. "But I shouldn't be drinking so much. And I shouldn't take it out on you. I'm sorry."

Reaching up to brush the same errant strand of hair behind her ear, he said, "Apology accepted."

As she began to speak, she felt herself drawn into his solid presence like a magnet. "I just want you to know," she said softly. "I don't know how I could have made it through this without you, El. Thank you for staying with me."

His eyes scanned her face and her hair, and she felt as if he was inspecting her for signs of flaws. Apparently unable to find any, he rested his gaze back on hers, saying, "I wouldn't have it any other way."

His eyes said so much, and in them she saw understanding, compassion, and a sparkle of something else—admiration? Somehow their faces were only inches apart now and, the space between them filled with electric magnetism, bringing them closer together. His lips looked delicious, supple and soft for such a hard man, and she wanted to taste them. As if reading her mind, he leaned forward and brought them against hers, and she closed her eyes to savor the skin against skin.

Returning the kiss without hesitation, she drew her mouth closed against his and then opened it once again. Everything else in the world dropped away—all thoughts of the past and the scary things in her life were somewhere else while his mouth pressed against hers, deepening their kiss. Her heart, which had run cold over the last few weeks, lit up like Times Square on New Year's Eve.

His hands caressed her back during the embrace, and now she wrapped her arms tightly around him, bringing his body close against hers. Their mouths still connected, lips and tongues exploring one another, she pressed hard against him, finally pulling away for air as she whispered in his ear, "Elliot." She swallowed, catching her breath as she said, "I've wanted to do that for a long time. You have no idea—"

"I think I do." He locked his gaze on her face again, keeping one arm wrapped around her as he stroked her hair with his free hand. "Because I've wanted it too." Shaking his head, he said, "And man, was it worth the wait."


	12. Chapter 12

_**Author's comments:**__ Have patience EO fans, you'll get some good action next chapter._

**Trouble**

**Chapter 12**

Part 1.

Somehow, it always felt like a walk of shame. She knew, of course, that she was blameless. But when she marched into her office, eyes filled with sympathy flashed toward her and then quickly looked away or down at the floor, not wanting to stare too long at the "victim."

Because that's what she was in their eyes now—not an experienced detective, or a capable sergeant, but a victim. It wouldn't bother her so much if she didn't already feel like one—helpless and terrified. It made her want to throw up. Being vulnerable was not her "thing," although she was learning that she had to at times.

Elliot walked beside and slightly behind her, his arm resting loosely around her shoulders to soothe her while simultaneously demonstrating respect for her superior status in this place where they had formerly worked as equals. The members of her squad stepped aside to grant her passage, while each one individually met her with silent greetings that betrayed their true feelings about what had happened to her.

First, Amanda met her eyes with a pained glance and a flashed smile that disappeared too quickly, and Olivia knew it must be too difficult to look into the face of someone who had been a mentor, knowing that Liv had been knocked off her pedestal. Then came Nick, unable to break a stare, his glowering eyes and frowning lips revealing worry and guilt at the same time. Fin was the only one who could pull off an unconditional compassion with his softened voice and the gentle way he laid his hand on her arm to greet her. "Elliot," he said, giving a nod to her former partner.

"What's up, man?" said, Elliot, flipping his chin up to Fin in return.

And then they entered her office, where Murphy had his own temporary set-up, with notepads and manila folders and a briefcase tucked under one corner of the desk. He was on his cell phone when they entered the office, but he said to the person on the other line, "Hey, I'll call you back," and hung up with the touch of his index finger.

"Olivia," he said with a delicate inflection, and Olivia blinked hard, keeping her lids closed for a couple of seconds while she fought back a sigh. He was only showing empathy, but it was like nails on a chalkboard. "Glad you're back. I heard you want to come back to work."

She nodded, and he continued before she could say anything. "Are you sure you're ready? It's only been, what—three weeks?"

She narrowed her eyes, ready for a fight. "Yeah, and I wish everyone would stop trying to talk me out of it already. My therapist gave his approv—"

"Hey, Liv," Murphy said, putting his hands out in front of him, palms down, to calm her down. "I'm not trying to talk you out of anything. If your therapist's on board, that's good enough for me. And it's not my decision to make anyway."

She sighed, remembering how she had lied to Dr. Lindstrom. Honestly, she had managed to stay away from the drink, even though the temptation was strong. But she had told him that the medications he had prescribed were working, that they calmed her nerves. In reality, every minute was still a struggle, and she couldn't count the number of times she had nearly ducked under the table when a loud noise or a man's voice had brought her right back to the terror of William Lewis.

"Yeah, I'm doing much better," she said, crossing her fingers in her mind.

"Alright, well I need to talk to this man here," he said, reaching out a hand to clasp Elliot's in a handshake. "Do you mind?"

She nodded and left the two alone in the office, wondering what they could have to talk about.

Part 2.

Elliot sat down at the desk across from Murphy, who began to rifle through papers in front of him. "So I've read your file."

"Uh-oh, am I in trouble?" Elliot said, joking around but genuinely confused.

Murphy brushed away his concerns with a wave of his hand. "Nah." Then he half-smiled, leaving Elliot more puzzled than before. "I just got word from the higher-ups that we have permission to hire a new detective. You got any desire to move back?"

Elliot's eyes widened, and he stared past Murphy, a million thoughts distracting him. Finally, he brought his attention back to Olivia's temporary replacement and said, "You sure they'll want me back?"

"Yeah," said Murphy without wavering. "You were one of their best detectives when you left. Besides," he said, glancing down at his desk, his hand settling on Olivia's badge. "Someone needs to keep an eye on Benson. I know she's real independent, but—"

Elliot nodded and said, "But this asshole really did a number on her."

"It's a lot for anyone to take, even someone as strong as her." Murphy folded his arms. "You've been around her, how's she _really _doing?"

Elliot tightened his lips, trying to decide how truthful he should answer. She had changed so much. The old Liv was full of energy, tough and wily and full of spunk. She may not have always been the cheeriest person, but now her downtrodden, hollowed eyes brought a cavern of sorrow to Elliot's heart. She may not think he noticed, but her hands trembled when she lifted a glass to her lips, and she hardly ate, picking at her food to try and hide her lack of hunger.

And at night, the nightmares caused her to cry out, sending arrows of dread through his spinal cord. Her voice high-pitched like a child, she would squirm with clenched-shut eyes and beg for mercy, trying to escape from an imaginary foe. Most of the time he wrapped her up in his arms, holding her and soothing her with soft shushing noises and reassuring her with his voice. When it happened, she never even woke up, so she didn't know that he knew the extent of her suffering.

But he didn't need to let Murphy in on these details. "She's holding up okay. Could be better. But maybe work will help her get back into a normal routine. It's all she talks about." He scratched his head and raised his eyebrows. "All I can say is, I wouldn't want to be the one to tell her no."

Murphy smiled. "Well then, it's a good thing we won't have to. The decision's already been made to let her come back."


	13. Chapter 13

_**Author's comments:**__ Whew. Intense. Brace yourselves._

**Trouble**

**Chapter 13**

Elliot acted way too mysterious for her liking after their separate meetings with Murphy. He never would tell her what the two of them talked about, even after she prodded him, but he couldn't seem to keep a smile off his lips. Before arriving at her apartment, he told the cabbie to stop in front of a gift shop, and he came out with an arrangement of flowers and a spring in his step.

"What's this for?" she said, smiling from ear to ear as he handed her the mixture of stargazer lilies and red roses.

"I'll tell you when we get home. You can get dressed for dinner—we'll go out. My treat."

By the time she was able to place the stunning bouquet on the center of her table, she nearly died from curiosity, hopeful yet cautious at the same time. As she turned to face him, he grabbed her hands and pulled her to him, and she said, "Okay, Elliot, what is this about?"

His fingers tightened around her hands as he said, "If it's okay with you, I have permission to come back and take my old position at SVU." A million thoughts swirled through her head as he began to babble on and on. "Of course, I'd be working under you, which is weird. So we'd have to keep things on the DL, or they'll separate us—"

"Elliot—"

She knew from her time with David that dating someone from work could be precarious, and she and David had been forced to terminate their relationship for that reason. "And I don't even know if you want me here after I've been gone so long, but—"

"Elliot," she said, this time grasping his chin between her thumb and index finger to get his full attention. He looked her in the eye, waiting attentively for her reaction. She smiled, almost tearing up as she said, "I'm so happy you're coming back. I couldn't ask for anything better."

He paused for a moment, his eyes wide, gratitude apparent in the boyish grin on his lips. Unable to resist the charm of his sweet smile, she rested her palm on his face, a tear making its way to the corner of her eye as she said, "Thank you, Elliot. It means so much to me that you're staying."

He wiped away her tear with his thumb, and their eyes locked in a trance of enchantment. She parted her lips, making way for his, and he accepted her invitation, leaning his head forward, their mouths hungrily exploring one another. He placed one hand on the small of her back, pulling her into him, and that one simple touch sent fingers of tingly bliss rising up the base of her spine.

She pulled her mouth away from his long enough to gasp in pleasure into his ear. "Elliot, that's—"

The rest of the words escaped her when he began to press his lips against her neck, planting gentle kisses along the length of it. "Mmmm," she moaned as he leaned into her, his erection pressing into her abdomen, causing heat to spread throughout her lower half. Her hands grasped at the muscles in his back now, catching one corner of his shirt to lift it up and over his head.

They had kissed these last few days, yes. But their affection had been tentative and cautious, sweet in the way new kisses usually were, and he had remained the perfect gentleman, relying on her cues. But now they treaded on new territory, and it excited and thrilled her body in a way she had not experienced in a long time. His hand slipped under her shirt as their mouths met once more, his fingers finding their way to her breast as her thighs began to burn with longing.

He paused and pulled away, and she tilted her head to the side, wondering where his thoughts were headed. He looked at her long enough to show resolve in his eyes, and then said, "Come on," as he stooped to place his arms under her knees and lift her up so he could carry her into the bedroom.

As he laid her gently on the bed, his eyes questioned her, and she smiled, her eyes narrowing in welcome to him. She extended her hand to him to let him know he had permission—to love her and make love to her, and he accepted her invitation by interlocking his fingers with hers. Removing the last barriers of clothing between them, he climbed onto her, rocking and sliding against her in one last blissful moment before he finally gave in to her beckoning glances and entered her.

She swallowed hard and closed her eyes, her body alive and her breathing accelerating as he slowly pressed into her and then pulled back far enough to plunge into her again. Pinpricks spread throughout her, and she held onto him, her fingers brushing against his skin so she could study every inch of him.

Opening her eyes, she saw him watching the ecstasy on her face, and when he realized she was with him once again, he caressed her hair and smiled while thrusting into her again. "Liv, you're so beautiful," he whispered.

Apparently encouraged by her acceptance of him, his motion intensified, and he began to drive harder into her, allowing his weight to rest on her. She closed her eyes again, and her heart began to pound in her chest. His muscular frame pressed down on her, and in a flash, the sensations in her body changed.

She could no longer catch her breath, and the space around her contracted, and now she felt trapped. Alarmed, she gasped several times deeply, on the verge of hyperventilating. Apparently Elliot mistook her flustered breathing for pleasure, because he quickened his pace, pushing his massive body against her even harder.

Her body could no longer distinguish his loving actions with the past, and she was right there on the table, fighting off an unwanted, disgusting slab of flesh. Writhing underneath him, she flailed her arms trying to push him off. Kicking and clawing and scratching, she managed to get him to back off a bit, but she continued to strike his chest with her fists, trying to get his body as far from he as possible. She dug her nails into his chest now, and he cried out in pain, grabbing her hands and holding them tightly.

Vaguely her mind registered his words, "Hey, hey, it's okay," but the action of restraining her hands threw her into a full-fledged panic.

She thrashed around wildly, trying to pull her hands free while she screamed, "Let go of me!"

At first, his solid hands gripped her like a vice, and he her ears heard the words but the never registered in her mind as he said, "Liv, it's me—come back to me." Eventually his hands let go, and every form of constraint disappeared.

Still lost in the grips of a terror-filled delusion, she took advantage of his release to curl up in a ball like an armadillo, gripping her knees in her arms. Eyes clenched shut, she blocked out everything around her and rocked, whimpering softly to herself.

And then she noticed a soothing sound—Elliot's lulling voice, saying, "Liv. It's okay. I'm not going to hurt you, I promise."

She flinched when he first touched her head, but then she slowed her rocking body as he began to stroke her hair. "It's okay, it's okay," he whispered over and over, his calming fingers caressing her hair until she came back to reality.

Hesitantly opening her eyes, she saw where she was—lying in her own bed, safely within the walls of her room, with Elliot at her side. Turning wide, moist eyes to his face, she saw the astonishment in his eyes and whispered, "I'm sorry, Elliot. I'm so sorry."

Seeing that she was safely back with him again, he lay down beside her and held her in his arms, gently kissing her forehead as he said, "Shhh . . . you have nothing to be sorry about. You're safe now."

Curling up against him, she allowed his arms to encircle her, providing sanctuary from the outside world, although she wished he could give her refuge from her inner world as well.


	14. Chapter 14

_**Author's comments:**__ Can I just say, if anyone didn't know, I love these two together._

**Trouble**

**Chapter 14**

Elliot gripped the seat as the unmarked Impala sped down a crowded street. "Slow down, he's just right around the corner." When she kept up the same pace, he added, "Careful."

"We're good," she said through gritted teeth. "Hang on."

As if he could do anything other than that. Her driving, much like her behavior at home, was starting to frighten him, which made him wonder if she should have spent more time recovering before tackling work so soon. But the last thing he wanted to do was bring it up, after what happened the last time he did.

She had cut down on the drinking, and he gave her credit for that. He admired her bravery, knowing that if he had gone through half of what she had, he might never have left the house again. But her drive to find dangerous activities to take her mind off her PTSD worried him.

Especially after what had happened a few days ago, when they had tried to make love. Seeing the wild look in her eyes as she fought him off as if he was her rapist had been like ripping out his heart and throwing on the floor to stomp it to death. When she looked up at him, screaming for him to get off her, there was no way to connect with her, and the only thing he could do was watch helplessly as she curled up in a ball and cried. She was lost to him—lost in some hellish alternative world, and he couldn't coax or console her out of it with words or touch.

So now he couldn't help but wonder—could she go into a similar psychotic trance if something triggered her while on the job? He had a feeling he would soon find out. Her eyes were a bit crazed now, but she seemed to have her senses about her as they worked to track down a serial sexual predator who liked to grab women on the subway.

The perp had gone one step further with his last victim, following her home and trying to stab her with a knife on her way inside. Good police work had allowed them to track the man down to his place of work, and when a pair of unis went to collect him, he had run, which had started a flurry of activity at SVU, and Olivia had not wanted to miss out.

Tracking his activity over the police radio, Olivia had flown the car through city streets to be the one to nab him. Now Elliot gulped air, hoping she wouldn't cause an accident after word came over the radio that the man was seen on foot just a few blocks from their car. When they reached the corner where the suspect had been spotted, Olivia turned the Impala too fast, coming within five feet of a vendor on the sidewalk. Elliot opened his mouth to say something, but then bit his tongue.

This gritty, determined Olivia stood in stark contrast to the forlorn and wounded woman who had been sulking about in her apartment. Sure, the time they had spent re-connecting the bonds between them had been nice. The closeness and intimacy were an amazing added bonus to their re-unification, and he savored every kiss and embrace between them.

But he would also frequently enter the living room to find her curled up in her favorite chair, staring into the distance in complete silence. Sometimes, she didn't even notice his appearance in the room at first. At other times, she flinched as soon as he said her name, her eyes wide before she could regain composure. But she never let him see her that way for long, always putting on a poised front, her lips curling up into a crooked smile for his benefit.

Now that distant look in her eye had disappeared, replaced by unyielding resolve, wrinkles forming in her forehead as she stepped on the gas. "Remember," he said, bracing himself as she swerved around a taxi who had failed to yield for the blatant flashing lights and sirens, "this guy's holding a knife, and may be duel-wielding, so be careful."

"I already know that. There he is," she said, just before slamming on her brakes after spotting the man running past a bodega. Elliot held his hand out in front of him to stop his chest from ramming into the dashboard, casting a glance backward to make sure the cab didn't rear-end them. He bounced about a foot out of his seat as she pulled the car up over the curb and into the sidewalk, cutting the guy off.

Olivia threw open the door and bolted out of the car after the man, and Elliot flew out after her, close behind. When the perp saw Liv, he started to turn and run away, but quickly realized he was boxed in by construction scaffolding on the sidewalk. Instead of trying to run out in the street and into traffic, he turned to face Olivia, and now Elliot could see he had a knife in both hands.

"Hands in the air!" she yelled, reaching him with her gun drawn before Elliot could catch up. But the suspect didn't comply, and instead jabbed one knife into the space between them. Elliot couldn't believe his eyes when he saw what she did next. Tucking her gun back into its holster, she leaped through the air and tackled the guy to the ground.

When he saw her lying on top of him, unmoving, Elliot's mind went to the worst of places, and he raced to her side to see how badly she had been injured. But she sat up, grabbing one of the man's hands to wrestle it down. "Elliot, get his other hand," she said, and now he saw that while one knife had gone flying, the other hand still clutched a knife tightly in its grip.

Immediately, Elliot grabbed the knife-wielding hand and wrestled the knife away from the man. Then he helped Olivia get the guy's hands behind his back so she could handcuff him. Turning to her, he said, "Are you hurt?"

"Nah, I'm fine," she said as he helped her to her feet. "Just a skinned knee."

Instantly his concern turned to anger. "Well then, what the hell were you thinking? Why did you—"

"Nice bag, Sergeant," said Nick, patting her on the shoulder.

Fin came up behind them now, saying, "I can't believe you got the guy. You alright, Liv?"

"Yeah," she said, basking in their positive attention.

Elliot was none too happy with her actions, but he wasn't about to tell her off in front of her subordinates. After they loaded the suspect into a patrol car, he said, "I'll drive."

Once they were safely isolated within the confines of the car, he said, "What the hell was that?" She glowered at him as he continued, his voice raised. "You could have gotten killed. Why didn't you follow procedure?"

She turned her face away from him now, her lips forming a thin line. "I got him, didn't I?"

"Yeah, and you almost died in the process. You could have kept him at gunpoint."

"He wasn't complying."

"You could have shot him."

"With all the police shootings lately, I didn't want to be the next cop to shoot a man who only had a knife—"

"That's bullshit!" he shouted. "You didn't have to risk your life."

She met his rant with icy silence, staring out the passenger side window. She stayed that way all the way back to the squad room, giving him nothing. Once they were back at the station, he started to head back to his desk, but she brushed past him, saying, "Detective. In my office."

When they got inside, she shut the door and started in on him from behind her desk. "You don't get to tell me how to do my job." He glared at her across the desk, and she met his glare with a resolute look. Shaking her head, she waved one pointed finger between the two of them. "We aren't partners anymore. I'm your superior."

"Look, Liv, what you did was dangerous." After a pause, he said, "Have you even seen your therapist since he approved you to come back to work?"

"That is none of your business," she said, dropping her chin for emphasis. Her voice rose to a shout, her eyes burning. "And let's get something straight, Detective. You don't get to tell me what to do. And you don't get to chew me out anymore. We're not doing that again."

He began to pace in her office, one hand on his hip and the other on the back of his head. Glancing out the window separating her office from the flor, he saw several of the detectives casting fleeting, curious looks at her office.

"Do you understand me, Detective Stabler?" she said sternly. When he refused to answer, she said it even louder. "Detective—do you understand?"

He turned to face her, leaning over her desk as he said quietly, "Yeah, I got it." And then he strode out, picking up his coat as he passed by his chair so he could get some air.


	15. Chapter 15

_**Author's comments:**__ The lesson in this chapter and the next—Amanda can be a bad influence. A very bad influence._

**Trouble**

**Chapter 15**

"Bartender, I'll have one more," Olivia said, still fuming from her earlier confrontation with Elliot. Bleary-eyed and muddled, she tried to keep her thoughts off him, but the exasperated look he shot her before storming out of her office kept coming back to her.

Maybe she had been wrong to talk to him that way, ordering him around as if he was a disobedient underling. But he had a long history of taking his anger out on her when it was convenient for him, trying to control her with his fits of rage. She had resolved that he wouldn't get away with it this time.

But now the stakes were higher. She needed him. How would she cope if she pushed him too far and he disappeared from her again? The thought made her shudder, and she downed the tumbler full of brandy the bartender had brought, trying to numb every bit of apprehension from her system.

"Liv," said a female voice behind her, and she turned to see the matching face.

Smiling, she said, "Amanda. Can I buy you something?"

"No, let me," said the perky blonde, pulling out a wad of cash. When Olivia shot her a curious look, she said in her southern drawl, "Don't even get to thinking—I cashed out some of my paycheck so I could limit my spending tonight."

Olivia nodded, thinking the thought that neither one of them dared speak. Amanda had a gambling addiction, but Olivia tried to stay out of her business unless the junior detective got too far out of hand.

Amanda raised two fingers to the bartender as she pulled up a barstool and said, "We'll have one more each—whatever she's having." Olivia tapped her empty glass on the counter, wondering how much Amanda knew about what was going on between her and Elliot. But the younger detective didn't let on, saying in a sincere voice, "Hey, I'm really glad you're back."

"Me too," Olivia smiled. Then her tone turned somber. "But it's hard jumping right back into things. And hard on my back," she said, rubbing a sore spot just above her waist.

Amanda paused for a moment, and then said, "Hey, I've still got some pain pills left from when I got shot. I don't want them anymore, you can have 'em."

Olivia started to protest, but Amanda dug furiously through her purse until she found and retrieved a small plastic bottle. "I guess I could try them," said Olivia reluctantly.

As Amanda plunked the bottle down on the counter, she said, "But not right now, okay? They don't mix well with alcohol."

"Sure," said Olivia, tucking the pills into her pocket.

"So," Amanda said, changing the subject just as their drinks arrived. "I don't mean to pry or anything. But you and Elliot—everything okay between you two?"

Olivia smirked, examining her drink as she lifted it off the countertop. "I think so," she said, trying to figure out how much to tell. "He's just being a little overprotective."

"Mmm," said Amanda, putting her drink up to her lips to take a sip. "I understand." And then, as if trying to hide something, she said, "I mean, I can imagine. Maybe . . . maybe he just cares about you and doesn't want you to get hurt."

Olivia brought the glass up to her lips, allowing the warm concoction to slide down the back of her throat, and it burned her insides on the way down. She shivered. "Yeah. I know that's it. It just gets a little . . . overbearing."

Amanda nodded as she polished off her own drink. "Well, whad'ya say we forget all our troubles for one night, and just have some fun?"

Their eyes turned toward one another, meeting in scheming silence. "I don't know," said Olivia hesitantly.

"Aw, come on, girl. Let your hair down. I know a place we can go . . ."

"Let me think about it," said Olivia, flagging down the bartender for one more. But it was probably already too late to exercise any restraint, because the amount of drinks she had already committed to had settled in her stomach, leaving her head cloudy and any trace of inhibition in a puddle on the floor. "You know what? YOLO," she said, raising her glass in the air.

Amanda did the same, and they clinked their drinks together. Things went by in a blur at that point, and they hadn't even left the first bar yet. All of her cares and worries lifted with her spirits as the liquor flowed, and she began to laugh in sloppy fits as Amanda started telling funny stories about their co-workers. "And then Fin says, you know, in his tough gangsta voice," Amanda slurred, and Olivia nodded knowingly. "So he says, 'I ain't gonna tap that, you tap that."

They burst out laughing simultaneously, Amanda punctuating the moment with a snort. "Can you believe he said that?"

Olivia barely remembered what they had just been joking about, but she wiped a tear away and said, "I can believe that, knowing Fin." The room began to spin as she finished off the last drink, and she stood up. "I'll be right back, I gotta hit the little girl's room."

Even though she felt slightly nauseous, a sense of contentment had settled into Olivia's gut, and she felt on top of the world as she made her way to the restroom. As she closed the stall door behind her, though, someone else in the bathroom slammed their door, and the sound of it caused her to hunker down. For a minute, the room spun into turmoil for a different reason, and she tried to get her bearings as her hands started to shake.

"_I'm just in the bathroom. At the bar_," she thought, closing her eyes to try and shut out the panic that had unexpectedly invaded her space.

When she was done, she leaned over the sink, splashing cold water over her face to get the images of Lewis holding a gun to her head out of her mind. The thought led to another one—this time of her leaning over a table with his weight on top of her, and she tried hard to pull herself together.

Remembering the pills in her pocket, she pulled out the bottle and stared at it. Hadn't Amanda said not to take any with alcohol? She vaguely remembered that, but she couldn't recall why. Untwisting the cap, she poured one into her hand, and then followed it with another. Popping them into her mouth, she cupped her hands, pouring cold water into them and bringing it to her lips to wash down the drugs.


	16. Chapter 16

_**Author's comments:**__ I'm so mean. I've already got the next three chapters written, but I'm going to make you wait. But I'll give you a hint—Olivia WILL pay for her actions._

**Trouble**

**Chapter 16**

Part 1.

A flighty euphoria blended with the heavy weighted feeling from the alcohol and washed over Olivia's body, cleansing away all anxiety. She and Amanda made it to the next bar—Liv didn't remember how, her mind lost in a fog, but she did recall tripping over her own feet as she stumbled into a dance club, following Amanda's lead.

Olivia leaned in close to yell into Amanda's ear, "I don't know about this. It's not really my thing."

"Ah, come on!" said Amanda, waving her hand to motion for Olivia to follow her.

Olivia trailed blindly behind her through a crowd of young people as hip-hop music boomed, rattling her eardrums. A girl who looked too young to drink with spiky purple hair and a too-tight black skirt brushed past Olivia, who thought she heard the girl say, "Outta the way, cougar."

But Olivia forgot to be insulted, lost in a haze of colors and lights and drum beats that swirled together, making her dizzy. They traversed a sea of people, all crowded together dancing, and Olivia's feet carried her to the center of the dance floor without any conscious effort. All inhibitions gone, she took Amanda's cue and began to sway to the music, moving her hips in time with the beat. The music swept her away like a leaf on the wind, and she closed her eyes, forgetting everything and surrendering to the sounds. The noise around her was deafening, but she caught the words and went with them:

_Oh, na-na, look what you done started._

_Oh, na-na, why ya gotta act so naughty?_

A tiny scantily-clad girl with a tray of shot glasses passed by, and Amanda grabbed one for each of them. Olivia downed it in one second flat, and threw her hands up in the air as she watched Amanda through heavy eyelids. The girl had some moves, and Olivia knew there were still some left within her, although it had been a long time since she had done anything like this. She shut her eyes and let the rhythm carry her, gyrating her waist in tight circles and shimmying her shoulders.

Lost in the music, she opened her eyes for second to see a cute guy with round, boyish cheeks and wispy hair dancing with Amanda, and she smirked and kept dancing. The next thing she knew, Amanda was leaning in to mumble into her ear, "I'm going with this guy for a little while."

Olivia nodded, not comprehending the full implications of Amanda's statement until the girl was gone. Now she was all alone on the dance floor, but she decided in her drunken fog that it didn't matter, that she would keep moving, because the music was calling her into a trance, and all the terrifying things in the world had been erased. All that mattered was the cloud of intoxication she was floating on, and for once she felt good—really good.

As she danced like nobody was watching, she felt a presence behind her, and she turned her head far enough around to see a young man dancing directly behind her, facing her. Now she noticed that there was a circle of men, all college-aged, closing in around her, smiling at her uninhibited moves. She didn't like being watched, but this was a dance club after all, and so she closed her eyes again and kept moving.

The guy behind her moved in a little too close though, and she took a step forward to put some distance between them. Apparently not taking the hint, he moved in closer to her once more, and now she could feel him pressing against her back. She was about to take another step away from him when she felt one of his hands slide around her belly, the other one creeping down her leg trying to make its way inside her thigh.

Her senses snapped back to attention, and she turned to face him, saying, "Get your fucking hands off me."

He stepped toward her and, without hesitation or even a thought, she put a hand on his shoulder and bent him over, bringing her knee up hard to meet his face at the same time. He remained stooped over in pain and brought his hands up to his nose, now gushing blood. "You bitch! You broke my nose!"

He took a step toward her and she punched him as hard as she could, causing him to stumble backward. His friends looked none too happy about her actions, and they started to close in on her as well, yelling, "Look what you did to Brandon! What the fuck is wrong with you, lady?"

Feeling threatened by the pack of them all mobbed together, she reached over to the nearest table, picked up an empty beer bottle, and broke it on the edge of the table. Raising the jagged edges up into the empty air in front of her, she slurred, "Who wants to be next?"

Part 2.

Elliot paced the floor of Olivia's living room, glancing at his watch once more. Three o'clock in the morning. He had called her multiple times—apparently she wasn't answering her phone. An hour ago, he called down at the station, but she wasn't there. Nick hadn't seen her, and Fin hadn't heard from her either.

If he knew where she was, he would probably leave her alone. If she needed time to herself to get over their heated exchange today, he would give her space. But the fact that he had no idea where she was this time of night worried him. It wasn't like her to stay out this late without letting anyone know, and he began to think she might be in trouble.

He would have gone sooner to look for her, but he wasn't sure where to look. And besides, what if she was with Cassidy? But it would be pretty heartless of her to take off someplace like that and not let him know she was okay.

He made the decision—he would take action and go looking for her. He didn't want to appear jealous or controlling, but he couldn't live with himself if something horrible happened to her once again. There was the usual police hang-out close to the station . . .

The bartender remembered him from all those years ago. "Stabler, my man," he said, holding a hand up to clasp Elliot's.

"Hey, listen, you seen Olivia in here tonight?"

"Matter of fact I did. She got a little more hammered than usual. Took off with that cute blonde detective. What's her name?"

"Amanda."

"Right, that's the one. She taken?"

"I don't know. Hey listen," said Elliot, leaning over the bar. "Do you know where they went after they left here?"

"I overheard them saying they were going to Club Shelter, over on Spring Street."

"Thanks, man." Elliot sprinted out of the bar, heading to the club. If Olivia was drunk, anything could happen, and she would not be paying attention to her own safety the same way as she would sober.

When he reached the club, he started for the front door when he heard a familiar voice call out behind him, "Stabler!"

Turning around, he saw Amanda with her arms around some guy who couldn't be more than twenty-five years old. Approaching her, he said, "Where's Liv?"

"Ah, she's alright, don't look so uptight, Stabler," she mumbled in a syrupy voice.

"You're drunk."

"Well, she ain't feeling no pain, either. But she's safe. She hasn't come out yet."

Heat rose to Elliot's face. "You left her in there alone while she's drunk?"

"She's a big girl," said Amanda, turning to the young man to paw at his chest. "What am I, her babysitter?"

Elliot shoved her by the shoulder to turn her to face him. The young man puffed up his chest and said, "Hey!"

"Stay out of it," Elliot said, pointing a finger in the guy's face. Then he turned back to Amanda and said, "If anything happens to her, I'm holding you responsible."

Amanda had just enough time to glower at him before he took off to the entrance of the club. He flashed his badge to the bouncer and went in. Pressing his way through a large crowd of college kids, he came to a spot where people were more crowded together than normal, noticing that they were gathered like a mob to watch something happening on the dance floor. Shoving his way through the human wall, he made it through to an empty spot and saw what the gawkers were watching.

Several bouncers and a couple of well-dressed twenty-something men circled around Olivia, who was holding a broken bottle in her hand, waving it at them. "Come on, just try it," she screamed, her eyes wild. She took a stab in the air with the bottle as she lunged toward one of the bouncers, and he jumped back just in time to miss the jutting piece of glass.

"Olivia," called out Elliot, and her eyes grew wide as she turned to look at him.

"Oh, hey, Elliot," she murmured. "Come join the party. We were dancing."

As she lowered the bottle to her side, three bouncers moved in on her and grabbed her arms. One of them wrestled the bottle out of her hands as she kicked her feet in the air and tried to break free of their grasp. Elliot moved in quickly now, pulling out his badge and saying, "NYPD. Let her go. I've got this."

Two bouncers cast him an uncertain look, but they loosened their grip on her, and she yanked her arms away from them and joined Elliot's side. Turning to face them, she said, "And keep your fucking hands off me. Next time—"

Elliot put a hand over her mouth, and she shot him a dirty look. "It's fine, I've got her. We're leaving," he said, guiding her toward the door.

One of the college-looking boys came up to them, yelling, "What are you going to do about my friend's face? Aren't you going to take a statement? She busted his nose."

Elliot kept walking, holding onto Olivia so she wouldn't take him down like a rabid pit bull, but the guy kept pace with them. "And what was he doing to her?"

"Nothing, man. She should have to pay for his hospital bill."

The guy was walking a little too close to them for Elliot's liking, and he stopped to face the man, still holding onto Olivia, who was walking a little wobbly. "You're lucky I don't arrest you all for assault. Now go about your business before I change my mind."

Elliot started walking again, guiding Olivia to the door. She turned around and called drunkenly over her shoulder, "That's right!" Pointing at Elliot, she said, "This is my mini-me." She laughed as she turned to Elliot, leaning into him so she could yell in his ear, "Oh, behave."

"Let's go," he said, giving her a small shove to get her moving. "Keep walking."


	17. Chapter 17

_**Author's comments:**__ Yes, Liv does need help._

**Trouble**

**Chapter 17**

"Elliot, I don't need a cab."

"Humor me, it's the least you can do," he said, slamming the door in her face.

Watching to make sure Amanda didn't ditch the cab just around the corner, Elliot turned his attention to Olivia, who stood unsteadily leaning against the brick wall of the club.

She was much more intoxicated than he had thought, her eyelids half-closed and her head sagging. If her apartment weren't just a few blocks away, he would have called a cab, but he could tell it wasn't going to be easy getting her home. She staggered with every step, and he wrapped his arm around her to prop her up. "You gonna make it?"

She nodded, murmuring her confirmation. But as soon as she took another step, she sagged like a sack of flour, barely catching herself with a tentatively placed foot to the side. Realizing she was going to need more help than he had realized, he pulled her arm around his neck, and she draped herself all over him like a coat.

"How much did you have tonight?" he asked, reviewing all the statistics about alcohol poisoning in his head.

"How much what?" she muttered, her lips barely able to form the words.

He snickered sarcastically. "Drinks. How many drinks?"

She shook her head. "I . . . I don't—" She stopped in her tracks, her face turning white as she leaned over.

"What's the matter?" he asked right before she began to hurl on the sidewalk in front of her.

He quickly swept her hair back out of her face so she didn't make a sopping mess of herself. She put a hand on his abdomen and leaned against him for support, and then puked again. Finally, she stood and swayed to her right, wobbling but not falling.

"You okay?"

"Yeah," she whispered. "Who's going to clean that up? Maybe we should—"

"Don't worry about it," he said, barely trying to keep the irritation from his voice. He pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket and wiped her face, saying, "Let's go. The last thing we need is for someone to notice the head of SVU out on the street puking drunk." She closed her eyes and then lurched forward again, clinging to him like a set of crutches.

Step by painstaking step, they made it back to her building, and he hoped with all his might that she wouldn't throw up in the elevator. Barely making it through the front door, she stopped, and then scrambled to the sink so she could vomit again. "Do you need water?" he said, holding her hair back again.

She shook her head, shuffling to the bathroom in a zig-zag motion. Settling onto the floor, she leaned over the toilet, and then rested her arm on the seat, laying her head down on top of it. He watched as she closed her eyes, her breathing labored, and he began to worry.

Squatting down next to her, he said, "Do I need to be concerned, Liv? How many drinks _did _you have?"

"I don't know," she stammered. "It was probably the pills. Amanda warned me—"

"Pills?"

She lifted her head just long enough to concentrate, trying to remember something, and then she reached into her pocket and said, "Here."

"What are these?" he asked, not waiting for a response before studying the label. "Oxycontin. You had these tonight? How many?"

She didn't answer, and he shook her. "How many pills, Liv?"

"Two," she managed to get out before resting her head on the toilet pillow once again. "They're for pain. And I'm . . . in pain," she mumbled.

He rubbed her back as he considered what to do, and she lifted her head up to vomit once more. Over the next few hours, he considered getting help every time her breathing seemed too shallow, but just as he would get ready to make a phone call, she would sit up long enough to throw up again.

The night continued on that way until daylight broke, and then she was able to hold down some water. Finally, he helped her to the bed, and she lay still for the next couple of hours, able to keep the contents of her gut inside. Sitting beside her, he monitored her, checking her breathing when her chest hardly rose anymore. Every few minutes, he woke her up to keep her from slipping into too deep of a slumber. Watching her sleep like a coma patient, he couldn't decide whether to be angry with her or pity her. Yawning in exhaustion, he settled on compassion and rubbed her back in soothing circles.

Around nine, she stirred with a heavy moan and threw an arm over her eyes to block out the morning light. "What . . . ," she said groggily, and then she sat straight up. "What time is it?"

"Go back to bed," he said, getting up to get ready for work. Now that she was awake, he trusted that she would be okay. "You're not going to work today."

Her words still blending together, she said, "I have to go. I'm the sergeant. I can't just skip out."

Elliot bent over the edge of the bed, resting his weight on his arms to make his point. "I don't know if you realize this, but you almost died last night."

"What?" she said, rubbing her temple. "What do you mean? I don't remember much after Amanda and I got to the club."

"You drank way too much. I almost called nine-one-one, and the only reason I didn't was because I was able to keep waking you."

She draped her legs over the side of the bed and said, "Still, I have to go to work." As she started to stand, her mouth formed a circle, and she brought a hand to her head. "Wow, I feel like I might hurl again."

Elliot sat down next to her on the bed. "I wouldn't be surprised if you did just that, all day long. You mixed oxycontin with alcohol, Olivia. My son's friend from college died from that very same concoction."

Covering her eyes, she said softly, "What am I going to do?"

"I'll tell everyone you're sick."

"Amanda knows," she said, flopping backwards into bed.

"I don't care who knows what," Elliot said, shaking his head. "All I care about is your welfare, Liv."

She groaned. "I feel like a truck hit me."

Staring intently at her, he got the feeling she still didn't get the severity of her actions. "Olivia," he said softly. "I can't keep doing this."

Her eyes flew open, and panic flashed over them. "Do what?"

"Watch you self-destruct right in front of me." Looking down at his hands, he said, sincerity in his voice, "Each time something like this happens, I'm terrified that you won't make it—that I found you just in time to lose you again. I can't bear the thought of that, Liv."

She draped her arm over her eyes and whispered, "So, what do you want me to do, Elliot?"

He shook his head. Wasn't it evident? Stop taking risks with her life. Instead he said, "You could start by seeing your therapist again."


	18. Chapter 18

_**Author's comments:**__ Sorry for the repulsive details, but that's what really would have happened, and I like to keep it realistic._

**Trouble**

**Chapter 18**

Part 1.

Olivia stared out a window at nothing, hardly even noticing when a wren perched on the windowsill. Her head snapped back when he said something again, his voice barely registering in her ears. "What?"

Dr. Lindstrom came back into focus. "Liv, are you here with me?"

"I'm—I'm sorry," she said softly. "What were you saying?"

He leaned forward. "I was asking how things are going now that you're back at work."

"Pretty good, I guess," she said, examining the soft lines of the velour couch with her fingers.

Not that there wasn't anything to talk about. But she had done her fair share of talking in the past, and it seemed to have lost its effectiveness. Here she was, back in the shrink's office, talking again. What she really needed was something to take her mind off the gaping pit in her gut, like a stiff drink. But that's what had landed her here to begin with.

After a long pause, Dr. Lindstrom changed course. "So, have you been drinking?"

"Not much," she said, flipping her hair back from her face.

"That's not what I heard," he said, trying to catch her attention with his intent stare.

The words finally attracted her eyes to meet his. "You _heard_? From who?"

"Elliot called me. He was concerned that you drank and took pain pills, and that you've been acting recklessly at work."

Narrowing her eyes, she said, "He had no right to contact you." Shaking her head, she looked away, trying to keep from storming out of the room. "He cannot just call you. What am I, fourteen years old? Do I need a chaperone now?"

Dr. Lindstrom stuck his pen in his mouth, and then withdrew it to say, "Look, Olivia. You have every right to be angry. And if you want, I'll tell Elliot I can't take any more phone calls from him." She shook her head steadily, brooding in silence as he continued. "But, based on what he told me, I am becoming afraid for your safety."

Her lips drew a thin line as she rolled her eyes, and then she started to stand up. "Okay, we're done here. If I wanted a lecture I'd—"

"Olivia, wait," he said, holding his hand out. "Please, sit back down." She stopped where she stood, but didn't sit down. He stayed in his chair and said, "You're not 'in trouble,' and I'm not going to scold you. I just want you to know that there are a lot of people who care about you who don't want to see you hurt, or worse . . . including me."

She studied the floor, and then plunked back down on the couch. "You shouldn't."

"Shouldn't . . . what? Care about you?"

"Worry about me getting hurt," she said, unable to meet his eyes. "I'm already there."

She could tell he was nodding even though she refused to look at him. "I see," he said, lifting one arm off the arm of the chair so he could click his pen, just once. "Do you want to tell me about that?"

"Not really," she said, her eyes out of focus. "I've told you everything already. It's just same-old, same-old."

"Okay," he said, setting the pen down so he could steep his fingers under his chin. "Well, can I just say something then? I want to tell you what I think, and you tell me if I'm wrong."

"Go ahead," she mumbled.

"I wonder if the reason you drink so much, and the reason you wanted to go back to work so badly, is because the feelings in you are so huge and so unbearable that you don't want to sit still long enough to feel them." Still staring at the wall, she didn't confirm or deny what he was saying, but she sniffled back a tear that corroborated his assertions. "And it sounds like you've given up on ever feeling better."

Her head bobbed in agreement as she wiped a tear from her cheek with the edge of her hand. "So what?" she said finally. "What good does it do knowing this? None of it helps me get rid of these intense feelings that make me want to crawl out of my skin."

"So you _have_ given up. Olivia," he said, lowering his head to try and get her to make eye contact. She finally caved and looked up, and his paternal eyes matched his calming voice. "Olivia, I just want to remind you that it _doesn't _last forever. And there are more things we can try. Remember, you just started on anti-depressants a month ago, and they take time to work." She had to use her sleeve now, because the tears were coming down too fast to catch with one hand. "And it would help if you got into a survivor group so you can get support from others like you. And it would be good if you found a hobby."

"Like what? I've never had a hobby," she said softly.

"You really liked that self-defense class you took before. Maybe you could take martial arts lessons?"

"That's a good idea," she said so hollowly that even she didn't believe herself.

They sat in silence for a moment, and she wondered if he was at a loss for words. But he must have been trying to find just the right thing to get through to her, because he said, "Please don't give up, Olivia." Tears were gushing out of her now, and he handed her a tissue. "There is hope, I promise. Just promise me you won't do anything . . . drastic."

She nodded through the tears, and he wrote something on a piece of paper and handed it to her. "This is my private number, to my cell phone. I don't give it out very often, but if you need to talk to me at any time," he shook his head resolutely, "don't hesitate. Okay?"

With that, he gripped her arm and gave it a squeeze, flashing a sad smile to let her know he was serious. "Thank you, Doctor," she said, hugging him before she left his office. "Can I see you again in a few days?"

"Absolutely."

Part 2.

Elliot sprang to his feet as soon as the door opened. Olivia emerged escorted by Dr. Lindstrom, and Elliot immediately grew distraught at Olivia's red eyes and flushed face, and he gave her hand a squeeze. But he consoled himself with the thought that it meant she had made contact with her emotions instead of letting them simmer beneath the surface until they boiled over.

"Liv, will you excuse us a moment, I want to talk to Elliot alone," said Dr. Lindstrom. When she cast him a suspicious glance, he said to her, "I'm just going to tell him what I said I'd tell him."

She nodded and sat in the waiting room, and Elliot scratched his head as he followed behind the doctor. When they got into his office, Dr. Lindstrom shut the door behind him and said, "Sit down."

Elliot did, keeping his eyes on the doctor the entire time. When the man got settled in his chair, he said, "Elliot, I can't really tell you what's going on in our sessions. And although I thank you for calling me, I can't let you do that anymore—Olivia doesn't give her permission for me to talk to you."

"But what if—"  
>Dr. Lindstrom held up a finger to quiet him. "Don't tell Olivia I'm saying this to you, or<p>

she'll never trust me again. But, based on her demeanor and what she's told me, I'm even more worried about her now."

Elliot leaned back in his seat, sighing as he listened to Dr. Lindstrom. "She's in a bad place, Elliot. The only reason I'm telling you this is because I don't think it's a good idea for her to be alone right now."

Elliot gave his head a shake. "But she doesn't want me monitoring her every move. What am I supposed to do?"

"Look, I know you can't watch her every second. All I'm saying is—please keep an eye on her. Look for any red flags, like giving things away, or . . . or saying she doesn't see the point of being here anymore."

Elliot's mouth fell open. "You don't mean—"

"Look, Elliot, I lost a patient one time to suicide, and I know the initial signs. She's a special woman, and I would be devastated if anything happened to her."

After their talk, Elliot stood to leave and turned to shake the therapist's hand. "Thank you, Doctor. She's special to me too." After he turned his back to the doctor, he wiped away a tear of his own, knowing that the stakes were too high to make any mistakes.


	19. Chapter 19

_**Author's comments:**_

**Trouble**

**Chapter 19**

"Olivia, you have something you want to say?"

She lowered her hand. "Yeah, I just wanted to let everyone here know, you're all very brave." Scanning the eyes of the women staring at her, she said, "It takes a lot of courage to go through what you all have, and I'm impressed that you're all sitting here today."

The group leader, a brunette woman named Margo who Olivia was familiar with from her last stint in this group, leaned forward and said to her, "What about you, Olivia? Do you want to share anything from your own experiences with the group?"

Over the past few days, Olivia had managed to erect a teflon wall around her to keep out any thoughts of Lewis. Her hands still broke out into violent tremors at random times, but she absorbed herself in work to keep the flashbacks to a minimum, staying in the office as much as possible and away from fieldwork.

It seemed to work fairly well for her, although she still had down time—periods of time where thoughts and memories could invade. At those times, it was hard as hell to avoid pouring a glass of wine. But she had slipped the pills in her purse without Elliot noticing, and if she needed the creepy-crawlies to go away, she popped one of those, along with her other medications.

Now she sat and stared at her fingers, trying to shut out the sound of another victim talking about her experience. She had blocked out the crying, but now she heard the words, "And then he pinned me down, and I couldn't get away. I should have fought back more." The group facilitator shook her head, and the woman said tearfully, "I'll never forget how he looked at me—that smile, and the way he acted like he owned me, like I was his property."

Olivia startled now, shifting in her chair as the words brought flashbacks of Lewis yanking her own head around. One memory led to another, and now she could feel him behind her, his flesh pressing into hers, his hands groping every part of her body. Almost as a reflex she stood, turning around to collect her things. "I'm sorry, everyone," she said, holding up a hand. "I have to go."

"Olivia," said Margo, but the woman's voice was not enough to stop her.

She rushed home, wanting to get there and shower for about five days and scrub her skin from the inside out. On the sidewalk, someone yelled near her, and she scanned the faces around her for danger. Someone got out of a taxi and slammed the door, and she almost ducked from imaginary flying bullets. And still the memories absorbed her thoughts, repeating images of Lewis violating her in various ways.

When she got home, she found the smallest place she could, a cubby of a spot in her bedroom between a bedside table and the wall, and sat down on the floor, wrapping her arms around her knees. And then she rocked, sobbing freely in a way she never had since Lewis lured her in for the last time.

She heard the front door click open and shut, and she hunkered down even more, knowing her gun was too far away to retrieve before an intruder could reach her. Footsteps reached her bedroom, and she shivered uncontrollably, trying not to assume the worst, but lost in a delusion of assailants at every turn.

She gulped as the steps approached her. Elliot's head peeked around the corner of the bed, and she exhaled a week's worth of air. His fretting face lightened a bit when he saw her, and then he hurried to her side, squatting down in front of her as he said, "What's going on?"

She wiped away a tear, afraid of looking like a muddled mess in front of him. "N-nothing, I—"

As she spoke, he held out a hand to her, and she crawled up next to him. He sat on the floor so he could hold her, and she said, "I have good days and I have bad days, and today was a bad day." It was safe, she knew, to have a complete meltdown in front of him—he wasn't going to judge her or shame her or talk her out of it. She let the tears go, and he responded by cradling her head in his arms, absorbing all the pain and tortured angst she had held onto all these weeks.

His lips planted soft, gentle kisses all over her head, lodging them in place of the horror-filled reflections that had run rampant. When the tremors that rocked her body had settled down to mild shivers, he said, "You want to tell me what's wrong?"

She sniffled. "I, um . . . I haven't been dealing with . . . with all this. I've been doing everything I can to avoid dealing with it."

"I know," he said, pressing his cheek against her head.

"I haven't been dealing with it because," she said, collecting herself after choking up, "I don't know how to do this." As he caressed her hair, she said, "I don't think I _can_ do this. It's just too hard, and it never seems to end."

"Shhh . . ." he said, his voice filled with desperation. "Don't talk like that. You know it gets better. You've got to know that after all the years of doing this job. How many survivors have you seen recover?"

She shut her eyes, trying to block out more recurring images of Lewis, this time her mind filled with his unwanted lips on hers, accented by the smell of her own burning flesh. "Yeah, but the difference is, I've done this before. Three times I've been assaulted now, and each time it happened, I went through this process, and just as it started to get better, it happened again. I don't feel safe anymore." Her voice rose in child-like despair as she started to tear up again. "Sometimes I wish . . . I wish he would have finished me off."

At the words, Elliot gripped her tighter, enveloping her snugly in his arms, and her shoulders shook with sobs. "Liv, please don't go there," he whispered, his lips brushing against her ear. "I just got you back, I can't lose you again."

In the silence she could feel his chest tightening up with dread, and then he said, "We'll get through this, I promise. Do you feel safe right now?"

She nodded, squeezing her eyes together to try and hold onto the moment forever. His body encircled her like an oasis in a sea of peril, his face pressing against hers like a rose in thorny thicket. "Yes, I do."

"Well," he said in a whisper, "what if I stay near you all the time, so you can come to me whenever you need this?"

She paused, and then said, "Don't make promises you can't keep, El. Brian said he'd—"

"I'm not Brian. I'll be right here, whenever you need me, I promise. Because . . . I love you, Liv. I love you too much to let you drown in a cesspool of emotions."

His words melted her heart like sun on ice cream, and she kissed his protective arm and said, "Thank you Elliot." A tear dripped down her nose, accompanying her words. " I love you too."


	20. Chapter 20

_**Author's comments:**__ Honeymoon's over. I have a particular fondness for fight scenes. _

**Trouble**

**Chapter 20**

"The guy won't crack," said Amanda, running a hand through her hair. She looked exhausted after ten hours of interrogating a perp suspected of molesting twelve-year-old girls at the middle school where he worked as a janitor.

"How's Elliot doing with him?" Olivia said, peering through the one-way window into the interrogation room. She flipped on the sound.

Elliot sat across from the guy, and he was coddling. "Man, I get it. They're cute at that age. Just starting to get the curves," Elliot said, making a wavy motion with his hands.

Olivia shuddered. It reminded her too much of what Lewis had said when he kidnapped Amelia.

"Nah, man, I don't go for that. It's disgusting to even think about," said the bald, portly man, waving away the idea with a hairy hand.

A sea of hot rage boiled just below the surface as Olivia watched the man, knowing they could put the scumbag away if they could just get this confession. "Let me have a go," she said, knowing her subordinates would not stop her.

Bursting into the room, she said to Elliot, "Detective," and nodded toward the door.

He cast a hesitant, surly look, but he did as she directed and stood to leave the room. As he passed by her, he said, "Tread carefully. I think I almost had him."

She ignored him and plunked herself down on the edge of the table in front of the guy and smiled sweetly. "Mr. Johnston, I'm Olivia Benson. And I happen to think Detective Stabler is wrong about you." He tilted his head to the side as he sized her up, and she leaned forward to let her hair fall inches from his face. "You're not a child molester at all, are you? But you understand, we have to follow through with our questioning so we can cross all our t's, you know?"

He nodded. "Yeah, I guess. But I'm really tired. Can I go home now?"

She stood up, putting on her sappiest voice as she walked around behind him. "I bet you only go for women—tall, voluptuous women."

His eyes followed her until she was directly behind him, and then he stared straight ahead. "Yeah, you know, like any other man."

"You wouldn't want little girls. That's not your thing at all." As she said it, she leaned over the back of him and put her hands on his shoulders and rubbed them, and then she let them drop down to his chest, petting him like a dog.

"What are you doing?" he said, glancing back at her.

She put her head next to his and whispered in his ear, "Just proving a point."

He smiled now and said, "Hey, whatever turns you on, Sweetheart."

The pet name brought up a vivid image of Lewis in his smarmy voice saying the very same thing to her, and in an instant, she wrapped her arm around his throat, gripping him in a chokehold so tight that he couldn't speak. "Don't you _ever_ call me that again," she said through gritted teeth, tightening her grip like a boa constrictor. "Do you understand, you miserable piece of shit?"

But the guy couldn't answer, and his face turned red as his throat rattled, trying to catch a tiny bit of air. The door flew open and Elliot rushed to her, trying to pry her arm off while shouting, "Olivia, let go."

It didn't take long before Nick was there too, trying to get a grip on her arm from the other side. But she let go voluntarily before they could wrestle him away from her, and she stepped back several feet, trying to come back down to earth, and then stormed out the door.

Swooshing past Amanda without saying a word, she headed for the locker room to cool down. But Elliot was hot on her tail, and he wouldn't give her a break so she could calm her spinning rage. "What the fuck was that?" he said, pointing back at the interrogation room as he got up in her face. "I almost had that guy and you—"

"You didn't have shit," she yelled. "You had your chance at him, and you couldn't manage to pull it off—"

"Thanks to you!" Blood vessels popped out on his beet red face, and she would have shrunk away in a panic at the glint of fury in his eyes if she wasn't so enraged herself.

But she was on fire right now, so out of control that she thought she might punch something, or someone. "Back off, Elliot!" she boomed, her gruff voice echoing throughout the locker room, and the words were so loud that she knew every single detective in the building must have heard them.

He glared at her, his hands curling up into tight fists. "Fine," he said, his voice eerily composed. "You want me to back off? I'll back the fuck off. You can just work it out yourself."

She became infuriated as soon as he turned his back on her, heading toward the door. Following him, she said, "Don't you turn you back on me, you son of a—"

As she clamped her hand on his shoulder, he spun around to face her, pointing a stiff finger in her face. "Go ahead and call me that, and see what happens." He started to lose his composure, his voice rising steadily. "I have been nothing but supportive of you this entire time. But I'm getting sick and tired of putting up with your . . ."

He clamped his mouth shut tight, holding in the words. His volume came down a notch as he seethed, "Get your shit together, Sergeant." Air flew out of her nostrils in huffs, and she stared him down, her eyes mere slits. Shaking his head, he turned away from her once more and strode out of the room.

She followed him out onto the floor. "Stabler." He walked by his chair, snatching up his jacket without slowing down. "Stabler," she said angrily, barely noticing all the eyes on them.

He kept walking until he had almost reached the elevators, stopping only when Nick stepped in front of him, saying quietly, "Elliot, we got the wrong guy. The victim recanted, saying it was her teacher. She was afraid he would hurt her if she told the truth. We gotta go pick him up."

Elliot followed Nick onto the elevator, casting one last indignant look at her before the doors shut, leaving her standing all alone, shoulders sagging along with any hopes of fairy-tale ending between them.


	21. Chapter 21

_**Author's comments:**__ It's comin', baby. Almost to the grand finale. Hang on, because it gets intense._

**Trouble**

**Chapter 21**

Part 1.

Olivia folded her arms, staring at the elevators as if she could magically will them to open and bring Elliot back to her. There went her rock—no, her touchstone, and she fretted over his words. Had he finally had enough?

Amanda interrupted her stupor. "Excuse me, Sergeant?"

"Yes?" she said, her eyes snapping back into focus.

She and the younger detective had come to a silent understanding—neither one of them brought up the wild night they had shared, so neither one of them could volley arrows of blame and accusations.

"We got a call on a domestic dispute," said Amanda.

"Why? That's not our jurisdiction."

"I know, but the wife is claiming her husband raped her, so they called us."

"Go with Fin," Olivia said, bringing her gaze back to the elevator doors.

"Can't," said Amanda, shuffling her feet. "He's in court. And Sonny's off today. I'm the only one left."

"I'll go with you," Olivia said softly.

"You sure about that? I can handle it alone."

Olivia sighed. "No, I'll go."

Part 2.

The sound of yelling assaulted Olivia's ears as she emerged from the squad car. One uni had the husband contained by a patrol car, un-cuffed but compliant. The wife stood on the front porch, scrawny and cheeks sunken, probably from meth use. Another officer had his arms up in front of her, trying to keep her on the porch so she couldn't go after her spouse.

"No good, lying son of bitch," she screamed.

An officer approached Amanda and Olivia, giving them a status report. "Wife's claiming everything—he punched her, he raped her, he cheated on her, you name it. She does have bruising on her face consistent with assault. Paramedics are on their way."

"So arrest him," Olivia said emphatically.

"We are, we're just trying to get his side first."

Olivia squared up to face the officer. "Arrest him, and then get his story. Domestic is an automatic arrest."

"B-but, he's claiming she assaulted him too."

"They always do," said Olivia, shaking her head as she continued on her way to the porch, Amanda a step behind.

When she reached the wife, she said, "Trina, I'm Sergeant Benson from SVU, and this is Detective Rollins. You want to tell us what happened?"

"Yeah," said the woman, her eyes dancing to match her feet. "I caught the asshole cheating." She stuck out her chin. "And he didn't like it when I told him about. So he hits me," she said, pointing to her bruised eye.

"Okay," said Olivia calmly, "but you also said he raped you?"

The woman snorted, "Yeah, I guess he couldn't get any from his _girlfriend_," she said, shooting a look of daggers at her husband, "so he decides he's going to take it from me."

"Okay," said Olivia, holding her hand out to calm the woman. "Tell me step by step how it happened."

"Well I knew he was cheating because I smelled perfume on him that I wouldn't be caught dead in. The cheap whore," she yelled in the direction of her husband. "And then I saw her name come up over and over again on the text messages, and I KNEW—"

The woman burst past the officers, making a beeline for her husband. Not wanting to wait to find out what would happen next, Olivia flew after her, tackling her to the ground a few feet before she reached her wide-eyed husband.

When he saw Olivia on top of his wife, he yelled, "Hey, leave her alone! Get off her!" Breaking free from the officer next to him, he ran toward the two of them and piled on Olivia from behind, grabbing her by the waist while she was trying to restrain the woman's hands.

It only took a few seconds for the other officers to pull the man off her, but the hands groping her and a body on top of her triggered a strong reaction in her, and she was right back in Lewis's grasp as soon as she shut her eyes. She started to get up off the ground, but stopped when she was on her hands and knees, unable to coax a breath out of her lungs.

Amanda was at her side, saying, "You okay, Liv? Take my hand."

But she couldn't move, couldn't breathe, couldn't speak, and she kept her eyes closed, trying to feel the hard concrete below her instead of the cold wooden table, trying to push the feel of cuffs and rope and duct tape out of her head. She became vaguely aware of Amanda kneeling next to her saying, "Liv, what's wrong? Are you okay?" But as hard as she tried to gasp for air, it wasn't coming fast enough, like suffocating inside a plastic bag.

"Liv, sit down," said Amanda. "The paramedics are almost here. What's wrong?"

Hands touched her shoulders, and Olivia tried to focus on the feel of them, knowing they were Amanda's. "Can't . . . breathe," she managed to gasp. "Chest . . . tight."

"Oh my God, Olivia, are you having a heart attack?"

Olivia shook her head, but she could be. "Hang on, here they are," said Amanda, and in her peripheral vision, Olivia saw her run off to meet them. Clasping her eyes tightly shut, she heard Amanda say, "She's over here, she can't breathe. Hurry."

Men in blue medic uniforms knelt down next to her, and one of them strapped an oxygen mask on her while the other took her vital signs. As oxygen filled her lungs, Olivia began to relax, her breathing slowing automatically. "Her heart rate is a little fast, but vital signs are normal otherwise," said one of the paramedics to Amanda. "Olivia, how are you feeling?" he asked her.

She nodded and gave a thumbs-up, cherishing the sweet taste of oxygen in her throat. Pulling the mask away, she said, "Much better. I can breathe now."

She sucked a few more succulent breaths of air out of the oxygen mask and then handed it back, saying softly, "I'm fine now. I'm okay."

"No more chest pain?" said the paramedic as she clamored to her feet. She shook her head, but he said, "Maybe you should go get checked out at the hospital, just in case."

"No, I'm fine. But thank you," she said, striding away briskly.

Amanda followed her, saying, "Liv, that was scary. If it wasn't a heart attack, what was it?"

"A panic attack," she said, refusing to look at the terrified younger detective, not wanting to see the pity she knew would reside in her eyes.

Part 3.

Olivia stared through the interrogation room window again, watching Elliot instead of the suspect this time. Having sent Amanda home after the poor girl worked a twelve-hour shift, it was all up to Elliot to get a confession out of this new teacher-slash-perp, and he had been in there since Olivia got back.

She knew that she had failed him and her squad, in more ways than one. And now she stood, arms crossed, watching him do his job in a way that she could no longer manage to do, unable to hold herself together. In fact, she thought she might very well lose her job as sergeant after assaulting an innocent man today, and there was a good chance she would lose Elliot again too. How could he stay with her, the way she fell apart on a daily basis, taking him down with her?

She decided to leave, gathering up her coat to wander the cold, dark streets of New York alone, hoping the brisk wind would wipe away all the scum and filth that seemed to stay within her since the assault. Since Lewis had raped her, she had taken showers multiple times a day, never quite able to scrub away the feeling of him inside her. It was with her again now, and she wished she could shed her skin like a snake, leaving it to be swept away by the Hudson River.

She cried now, staring out over the dark, sparkling water of the river, and this time she cried alone. Surely Elliot wouldn't keep his promise to be there for her after the fight they had today, nor could it be possible for him to keep such an insane promise anyway. One person could never be there for her one-hundred percent of the time.

"This isn't working," she muttered under her breath. None of it was working—not the therapy, not Elliot, not the support group, not the medication. Not one thing or person could make a damn difference in this crappy existence that she had come to live in, and she found herself struggling like a fly in a spider's web, always waiting for the predator to arrive.

Fumbling around in her pocket, she found the bottle of pills that she carried around with her everywhere now, and she pulled them out and examined the label. There had been sixty in the container originally, and she had downed a few over the previous days, just to feel a little better. Now she unscrewed the lid and poured them in her hand, counting them as she did. More than forty left.

She swished the pills around with one finger like candy. How much easier would it be, not to spend every moment waiting for the beast to jump out of the darkness like he had that first horrific night in her apartment? Maybe she should just go ahead and join him, since she could never be rid of him anyway. Maybe he really was the one in the dream, taunting her to a self-inflicted death. Maybe it had worked.

She singled out two of the pills and popped them in her mouth, rolling them around with her tongue before tilting her head back to swallow them without so much as a drink of water to wash them down. What was that saying about water? Everywhere, but not a drop to drink, much like the tears that dripped from her eyes, wetting her lashes but not her lips.

Sliding another two down her throat, she wondered what the lethal dose might be, and how horrific a fate if she miscalculated and woke up with permanent liver damage. It only confirmed in her mind that if she did this, she had to do it right. With shaking hands, she delicately placed two more into her mouth and sucked them down, closing her eyes against the sting from dry pills against her constricted throat.

Could she really go through with this? Maybe it was too big of a decision to make on impulse. Inhaling deeply, she decided to make one last phone call before it was too late.

The phone only rang once before Dr. Lindstrom answered. "Olivia?" he said, his voice high-pitched and anxious, as if he already guessed the purpose of her call. Of course—it was ten o'clock at night, and how many reasons could she have for calling him that late? "Is everything okay?"

Her voice husky and low, she said, "No, it's not."

"What's going on?" he said, his tone sympathetic, and she wished he didn't sound like he was talking to a mental patient.

"I'm . . . I'm having trouble dealing," she said, not sure how to break the bad news to a therapist that their worst nightmare was minutes from coming true.

He paused before answering, as if weighing every word carefully. "And so, what are you doing right now?"

As if he didn't know. "I'm . . . I'm on the verge of taking pills," she said, her head ringing.

The exchange that followed reminded her much of a relay of facts between a physician and a patient, a bland recitation of details, yet tinted with an edge of high tension. "You're—you're about to? Have you taken any yet?"

"About six."

"What kind?"

"Oxycontin."

"How many do you have?"

"About forty."

She could almost picture him nodding as he did some mental calculations. "Can you stop for a few minutes until I can talk to you in person? Where are you?"

She got silent, reviewing her options. If she answered his question honestly, he would call the authorities to stop her, and then have her involuntarily committed to a mental facility for seventy-two hours. "You know what? I'm sorry Doctor. I really am. But it was a mistake to call you."

"Olivia, wait—"

His voice cut off abruptly as she pressed the red "End call" button and stared at the phone, sighing as she got ready to finish the job.


	22. Chapter 22

_**Author's comments:**__ Maybe it is time for a glass of wine . . . or a bottle._

**Trouble**

**Chapter 22**

Part 1.

As she gazed glassy-eyed over the water, preparing to pour a handful of pills into her mouth, her pocket began to vibrate. Debating whether to even check her phone, she caved and retrieved it, staring mindlessly at the number on the screen. Nick.

Making a one-second decision, she acted on instinct and pushed the button to answer. "Nick?"

Had he read her mind? Known somehow what she was in the process of doing? He answered, "Liv, we've got a situation down at the station. You need to come quick."

The hand that held the pill bottle dropped to her side as she said, "What is it?"

Nick's voice contained all sorts of nervous excitement. "Patrolmen brought in a dangerous fugitive—remember Tom Grady?"

"You mean the psycho who raped and strangled his victims? We got him?" she said, trying to sound excited.

"Yeah, but as they were bringing him in, he broke free from the arresting officer and Elliot just happened to be walking by. The guy managed to grab Elliot's gun, and now he's got him in the interrogation office, holding him hostage."

Olivia's jaw fell open. "The interrogation room?"

"Grady was trapped—it was the only place he could get to. It was empty—we just moved our other guy out of there."

Olivia waited a beat and then said, "I'm at the river."

"East?"

"Hudson. Get a squad car over here so I can get back."

Part 2.

A strange calm swept through Olivia's body as she peered through the interrogation window for the third time in one day, the buzz from the pills keeping her tranquil. Nick crowded her, saying, "We're waiting for the hostage negotiator." Olivia was a brick wall, unaffected by his words or his nervousness.

"By the time they get here it'll be too late," she said, arms crossed. "It's all going to end right now, in fact."

She moved toward the door and he blocked, holding up an arm in front of her. "No, Liv. You can't go in there."

Looking him straight in the eyes, she said, "Yeah. I am." He tensed up his arm, turning it into a steel bar. She knew she needed to distract him. "Nick, I just want you to know, you've been a good partner," she said gently, knowing this might be the last time she talked to him. "I really care about you."

She waited for his eyebrows to lower and his mouth to open as he considered how to respond, and then she burst through his arm and turned the handle on the door at the same time.

He could have followed her in, could have tried to drag her out. But she knew his cop training would kick in, and he would realize that if he presented himself in that room he could very well end Elliot's life, as well as hers. Sensing that he wasn't behind her, she raised her arms and spread her fingertips, focusing on the towering black-haired man who had his arm wrapped around Elliot's neck, the other hand holding a pistol to Elliot's head.

Elliot's jaw dropped as his eyes widened, and she yelled out before the man could react, "I'm unarmed. I don't have a weapon."

"Just stay back," he said, shoving the gun into Elliot's temple.

She patted her hands in the air to calm him, saying softly, "I will. I promise. But I have a proposal for you."

Apparently reading her mind, Elliot said, "Liv, don't."

"Be quiet, El," she said. "Mr. Grady, I know you'd prefer to have me than Detective Stabler here."

The guy shook his head, and she said evenly, "You like women. You could take me out of here with you, overpower me. I know that's what you like. Just think about it."

"Olivia, no!" said Elliot. "Don't listen to her, Grady."

Seeing wavering contemplation flash in the man's eyes, she took advantage of his ambivalence. "You know you want to. You'd have me all to yourself, a gun to my head. I'd be completely helpless. You could do whatever you wanted, and there wouldn't be a damn thing to stop you."

Elliot's eyes pleaded with her, and he said, "Liv, you can't. You know you can't."

Finding herself with so much left unsaid, she nodded and said, "Déjà vu, huh, Elliot?" He shook his head, his lips tightening. "It's going to end differently this time, I'm afraid," she said.

"Shut up!" said Grady.

"I can't lose you again," Elliot said, ignoring the man.

"I was dead the second Lewis put the gun to my head, El." Then to Grady she said, "Come on, take me. I'm already damaged anyway. People have tried to save me. You've tried to save me, El. I know you've done your best. But it's too late."

Elliot shook his head, tears forming in the corners of his eyes. He mouthed the words, "It's not."

"I'm sorry, but I have to do this, El," she said so softly that she doubted he could hear her. "I love you."

His eyebrows lowered, and Grady said, "Okay, come over here and I'll let him go." She put down her hands and he said, "Move!"

As she approached, Elliot's bargaining sounded more desperate and panicked. "Grady, don't. You've got me, you don't need her. Liv, stop."

When she reached them, Grady pointed the barrel of the gun away from Elliot's head and placed it firmly against hers, and she closed her eyes and swallowed hard, thinking, "_Here we go again._"

But this time was different. This time she remained calm, fortified with a resolve that she never had before. She knew it was because she had no plans to allow this asshole, or anyone else, to take her again.

Elliot resisted when Grady let go of him, his eyes urgently focused on her for any sign of an opening. But Grady turned to him, his gun planted solidly in her forehead now, and said, "Go. Get out, or I'll blow her head off. And I want a way out of here, or I'll take us both out, and as many other pigs as I can in the meantime."

Elliot threw his hands up in surrender and backed out slowly, mouthing the words, "I love you," to her before disappearing out the door.

Part 3.

Elliot paced, one hand on the back of his head, keeping his eyes on Olivia through the window the entire time. "What are we going to do?" he asked Nick. "We can't let him take her out of here."

"The hostage negotiator was supposed to be here ten minutes ago," said Nick. "We wait."

Elliot shook his head. "We can't wait. He's going to kill her if we don't do something quick."

"We have to, Elliot—"

Grady's voice came over the one-way intercom wired to the room. "I need a path out," he said. "I'm losing patience."

Elliot covered his mouth with one hand, watching Olivia, who had her eyes closed and appeared to be amazingly calm. Earlier today, he had yelled at her. Earlier today, he was furious with her. She opened her eyes for a second, and he saw the sparkling darkness in them, like stars swirling in a dazzling universe. Earlier, he had made a promise to her that he didn't keep—to be there for her every minute. Instead, he had blamed her for screwing up in a moment of weakness, only mere weeks after suffering from rape and almost being shot in the head. Now, he saw her for the angel she really was, dark locks of hair surrounding her courageous face.

She inhaled, and then spoke. "Elliot, I know you can hear me."

"Shut up!" said Grady, shifting his feet.

Her eyes still closed, she said, "I don't blame you. Don't ever feel like I did."

"I said shut up!"

"Nobody could have done more for me than you did, and I appreciate every second we got to spend with each other."

"Bitch, you better stop!" said Grady, shoving the gun into her temple so hard that she grimaced.

Elliot's fists tightened, but all he could do was watch helplessly. Olivia's lips formed a crooked line as she parted them to speak again. "I hope you can forgive me for this."

"Forgive her?" said Nick, his eyes narrowing in confusion. "What does she mean?"

Elliot knew, and he whispered the word, "No," placing the palms of his hands up against the glass.

But it was too late—she had made up her mind. "I love you, Elliot," she said, choking up as she said it. Elbowing Grady in the stomach, she pulled away from him the second he doubled over in pain, and then she turned toward him and grabbed his gun arm. Elliot made a mad dash for the door and yanked it open just in time to hear a shot ring out, followed shortly by another one.


	23. Chapter 23

_**Author's comments:**_

**Trouble**

**Chapter 23**

Part 1.

Olivia heard the first shot. Searing pain ripped through her ribcage, the floor rising up to meet her as her legs gave out, and she knew the bullet had made contact as her face rested against the cold tile floor. Once more she found herself gasping for breath, and this time it was no panic attack.

Her assailant lay spread-eagle on the floor beside her, and even though she never heard the second shot, she knew what had happened. He had nothing more to look forward to but a long prison sentence by remaining alive. She smiled sweetly, even though she would probably meet the same fate as him.

Elliot's frantic face flashed over her, and now she remembered what she would miss. "Hang on, Liv," he said, and she noticed for the first time the way his eyes glinted when he worried about her. It occurred to her that maybe this dying shit didn't work for her, after all.

He rolled her on her back, and Nick was there now, and she inhaled sharply as he pressed down on her chest. Nick and Elliot exchanged worried glances, and Nick said, "She's losing a lot of blood."

Elliot flashed a look at him telling him not to say anything in front of her. "Get a medic in here, now!" he yelled at the officers pouring into the room now.

Taking off his coat jacket, Elliot wadded it up and Nick lifted his hands so he could press it against the wound to stem the flow of blood. Amazingly, she wasn't in a lot of pain now, maybe because she was still on an adrenaline high, or perhaps because of the pain pills she had taken earlier.

She never took her eyes off Elliot's face, and he turned his head away from the injury to face her. "It's okay, Liv, you're going to be okay," although his eyes said otherwise.

Her breathing becoming more labored, she had to gulp air between every word. "I changed my mind, El," she rasped.

"Shhhh," he said. "Don't talk."

"I don't want to die."

Part 2.

The words stung Elliot like a wasp, and he cradled her head in his arms as gently as he could. "Shhh . . . you're not going to die, Liv. Save your energy."

He hadn't realized that anybody could still remain conscious after so much blood had poured out of their body. Performing some quick formulations in his head, he still had hope. If it was a shot to the heart, she would be dead instantly. From the placement in her ribs and the way she gasped for breath, he knew a lung must be punctured. But she had to get help, right now.

"Where are those paramedics?" said Nick, his eyes crazed.

"They should have been here all this time," said Elliot, glancing away from Olivia for a second. "Anytime there's a hostage situation—"

Nick shook his head. "They still hadn't arrived when Liv got here."

Elliot brought his attention back to Olivia, stroking her face. "I'm sorry, Liv," he whispered.

Her eyes softened, covered by a light glaze from shock. She started to speak, saying, "It's—"

Then she turned her head to cough, and dark glistening blood oozed out of her mouth. Laying her head back down on his lap, her face scrunched up, her lungs rattling as she repeated, "I don't want to die."

"Don't talk," said Elliot and, realizing these might be their last few moments together, words began to spill out of him, and he didn't care if Nick or anyone else heard. "You're not going to die, Liv, you know why? Because I realize now how much I need you, and you're irreplaceable. You are the bravest, most caring person I know. I've always thought that, from day one, and you've proved it even more so over the years." His voice cracked as her eyes shimmered through heavy lids. "I wish so much that I could go back and do it over, because I would have been here for you the past few years, to show you how much I love you, and I always have. . ."

He had to stop because he was going to cry, watching her blink, barely able to keep her eyes open. He wiped blood from her mouth with his sleeve, and then stroked her hair as her eyes closed. "Never forget that, Liv. I love you."

Part 3.

Warmth flowed through her chest, and she couldn't tell if it was from the blood pumping from it in streams, or if Elliot's words touched her that much. She watched as he proclaimed his love for her, barely hearing the words, or anything else in the room. Dazed, she gazed up at him, wishing she had the strength to touch his face and ease his worries.

Allowing her mouth to fall open, she started to echo the words back, saying, "I—"

But she floated away, unaware of anything in the outside world as her own world transformed into blankness.

Part 4.

Olivia shut her eyes, and her face turned pale, her lips fading from red to blue. "Liv," said Elliot, patting her face. "Liv, stay with me," he said, his tone cautionary. Looking up at Nick, he said, "Is she breathing?"

"Just barely," said Nick, still clamping down on the bullet wound. Elliot glanced down at her chest, holding his own breath as he watched her rib cage come to a standstill, and then rise and fall, followed by another much-too-long pause.

He placed two fingers under her ashen chin, waiting impatiently for the beats to register. "Pulse is really weak," he said.

Pulling her head up to cradle it against his shoulder, he whispered, "Don't you leave me, Liv. Don't you dare leave."

Her mouth fell open at the words, and he no longer saw her chest rising. "Breathe, dammit," he said, frantically rummaging through her hair with his fingers, oblivious to the tears dropping from his eyes onto her face. "You gotta breathe."

Out of the corner of his eye he saw boots and blue uniforms, different from the standard police issue, and he knew the damn paramedics had finally arrived. "Where have you been?" he shouted. "She's not breathing. Help her."

The men shoved him out of the way and knelt beside her, one of them pushing Nick away as they took over his job. "I need the ET tube," said one.

The other one handed him a chest tube and said, "Hurry, we've lost the pulse."

Elliot tried not to crowd them, standing back just enough to let them do their job. They got her on a gurney as they worked on her, and he touched her hand one last time as they wheeled her away. "Oh, God," he said, not even trying to hide his tears as he wiped them away.

Nick patted him on the shoulder, saying, "She'll make it."

Elliot nodded half-heartedly, because he didn't really believe it.


	24. Chapter 24

_**Author's comments:**__ Where are those damn paramedics when you need them? Lol._

**Trouble**

**Chapter 24**

Part 1.

Elliot rubbed his sleeve over his face, glancing down when he spotted her blood stain on the cuff. He looked up and away, unable to face the terrifying evidence of her possible demise. A knot in his stomach tightened with every step he paced. "This is all my fault. It's my fault," he murmured over and over again. "She wouldn't have risked her life if I had given her a reason to live."

Nick rested a hand on his shoulder. "C'mon, man, you can't think that. If anything, it's all our faults for not seeing what kind of state she was in."

Elliot faced him. "But I _did_ know," he said, his voice growing louder as he became more disgusted with himself. "Her therapist even warned me. Stupid!" he said, spittle flying from his mouth.

"Look, if she does live, we need to be there for her. Especially you. Let's go down there before—"

Nick stopped, but Elliot knew what he was about to say and finished his sentence. "Before it's too late."

Part 2.

As they walked through the ER doors, Fin approached them. Frightened by the look on his face, Elliot avoided the obvious topic. "How in the hell did you—"

"I was driving over to help with your hostage situation. I heard over the police scanner and came straight here—"

Nick impatiently jumped in. "So what have you heard?"

Fin shook his head and looked straight at Elliot. Hands shaking, he wondered if this was Fin's way of preparing to break the bad news. "She's . . . she's still alive," said Fin, "but just barely hanging on. She's in surgery now. They said it could go either way."

Elliot closed his eyes and exhaled. His biggest fear was that she would die on the way here, but if she made it this far . . . . Still, the battle wasn't over yet.

Amanda came trotting up, wanting an immediate update, and Fin gave it to her. Doggedly, Elliot clamored after the entourage to the waiting room, seeing Olivia around every turn. A brunette strode confidently toward the nurse's station, and he thought it was her until the woman turned around. He made the same mistake with another woman getting on the elevator. How many times had they visited hospitals together, having complex conversations, sometimes even debates, in the elevators?

He sat with his head in his hands, blocking out the conversations around him. What else could be more important to talk about right now than Olivia? Nothing else mattered to him. Remembering how she saved his wife and youngest child after a car accident, helping to deliver Baby Elliot in the ambulance, he fought back tears.

Closing his eyes, he could picture her—the way her hair swished, her strut when she was on a roll, the way one side of her lips rose higher than the other when she was upset, the way she beamed like the sun when she smiled . . . . "_Funny,_" he thought. "_I didn't even see her for years, and yet, I miss her now more than I could ever imagine._"

But always in the past, he had at least known she was there. He kicked himself. She could have been killed anytime, working such a dangerous job, and yet he always just assumed she would be there if he decided to get up off his stupid ass and see her. And now, he may have missed his opportunity to love her the way she deserved.

As he rubbed the bridge of his nose between his fingers, a voice said, "Elliot." He turned to see Dr. Lindstrom approaching just in time for the man to pat him on the shoulder.

"Doctor?" he said. "How did you hear—"

"I didn't," said the gray-haired man, sitting in a chair across from him. "She called me, Elliot."

"When?"

"I guess it was just before this all happened." The doctor leaned forward, planting his face in one hand. "I got really alarmed because she said she was going to down a bunch of pills, and I called around to try and track her down."

"And you found out about the shooting?"

"I guess it had just happened, yeah. I came down here immediately because she said she'd already taken some oxycontin. I wanted to make sure they knew what meds she was on before they did the surgery."

Elliot rubbed his hand over his face, realizing for the first time the implications of the doctor's words. "She was really going to do it, huh?" Looking away, he said, "That explains a lot. She didn't care if she sacrificed herself, because she was going to take her own life anyway."

He could no longer control his overflowing despair, and tears began to fall from his eyes as he shook his head. "It's all my fault," he said softly. "It's my fault. I could have stopped it this afternoon, if I hadn't yelled at her—"

Dr. Lindstrom leaned forward and put a comforting hand on Elliot's shoulder. "You can't do that to yourself, Elliot. I blamed myself too, trying to figure out how I could have gotten through to her." Pulling his hand back but maintaining eye contact, he said, "But she was haunted by such horrible demons." He paused, and then added, "She still is. If she gets through this . . ." He closed his mouth for a second, choking up, and then he said, "When she gets through this, she's going to need lots of supportive people around her, and she'll want you there, front and center."

Elliot gave his head an uncertain shake. "I don't know about that. What if she blames me?"

"Tell me, Elliot, did she say anything to you before she passed out?"

Elliot looked up at him. "Yeah, she said she didn't want to die."

Dr. Lindstrom nodded, his lips forming a solid line. "She has hope, finally. And that means she still believes in you."

Elliot sat back, letting his hands fall in his lap as he whispered, "I hope so."

A doctor approached their group hesitantly, saying, "Is this the family of Olivia Benson?"

The detectives eyed each other questioningly, and then Fin answered, "Yeah, we're her family."

Glancing down at his clipboard with lowered eyebrows, the doctor said, "Well, can I talk to just immediate family?"

All eyes turned toward Elliot, and he stuttered, "I'm, uh . . . that's me."

"Okay," said the doctor, sitting down next to him. "Well, here's what's going on with Olivia, Mr. . . .?"

"You can call me Elliot."

"Elliot." His voice sobered. "We just finished surgery on Olivia. She pulled through, but she's still very much critical." Elliot sighed in relief, even as he tensed up in preparation for the words that followed. "Punctured lungs are a tricky thing. A lot of times we can repair the initial damage, but there can be complications with blood clots and such. She's on a ventilator to help her breathe."

Elliot covered his mouth with his hand, and then said, "It sounds promising."

The doctor paused before answering. "We are cautiously optimistic. One thing, though."

"What's that?" said Elliot softly.

"I don't know if you're aware, but Olivia stopped breathing and her heart stopped in the ambulance on the way over. It was only for a few minutes—" Elliot rubbed his forehead. "But, she could possibly have some brain damage from lack of oxygen during that time. We'll have no way of knowing until she wakes up."

Elliot sighed again, this time in dismay. "Oh, God," he said. "When can I see her?"

"She's in ICU right now, resting, and she's still unconscious. There's no telling when she'll wake up. You can go see her for a few minutes, but don't expect her to be responsive."

"Okay," said Elliot, rising to his feet. "I want to see her."

Muscles tensed in his chest as he followed the doctor into a dark room, where a solitary hospital bed sat with a large machine next to it, shushing noises emanating from it as it did its work. He almost didn't see her at first—she looked so tiny engulfed by all the machines and tubes. Sitting down gently on the bed beside her so he didn't disturb her or any of the equipment attached to her, he examined her face—a tube entered her mouth, which was covered by a strap holding it on. Her hair was tousled and her eyelids looked waxy, her skin pale, and he was almost afraid to touch her, afraid her flesh would be cold and dead.

But finally, his hand found hers, and he relaxed when it gave off a surprising amount of warmth. "Liv," he said softly, the words almost catching in his throat. "I know you can't hear me. Or maybe you can, but either way." His thumb slid gently over the crook of her limp hand, and the machine whirred on—_Sshhht, thump. _"I just wanted you to know, just in case—" He had to stop for a moment as tears filled the corners of his eyes. "I'm so sorry. I don't know how to tell you how sorry I am. Please come back to me. I promise you that if you do, I'll love you the way you deserve to be loved this time."

With that, he raised her hand to his lips to plant a tender kiss on it. "Mr. Stabler," said the nurse, "we have to let her rest now."


	25. Chapter 25

_**Author's comments:**__ By the way, I know I don't say it enough, but thank you for the reviews. Although I like to write just for the sake of writing, the comments really help me stay motivated. I appreciate every devoted follower! _

**Trouble**

**Chapter 25**

Part 1.

Her face floated over him, her voice echoing and distant. "_I have to go._"

"Don't," he said.

She nodded, her eyes glowing like stars. "_I'm free of the bonds that held me. I'll miss you. But I'm free. I know you understand."_

"Please stay."

"_I have to—_"

Her face disappeared, and he yelled, "No," scanning the room for any traces of her.

"Mr. Stabler?"

Elliot jolted awake, sitting straight up from the waiting room chairs where he had slumped. Rubbing his face, he waited for her to break the bad news to him.

"She's awake," said the nurse.

He exhaled a lungful of air.

The nurse cautioned, "But she's still attached to the ventilator, and can't talk. So far, we haven't seen any signs of brain injury, but we won't be able to tell until she can speak. She's really weak, so we'll—"

"I won't stay long," he replied.

This time there was a different kind of nervous excitement as he entered the room—not one of dread, but one of cautious hope. As he approached, her eyes remained closed, but when he sat down on the edge of the bed, she opened them part-way, and those beautiful, dark eyes met his. She raised a weak hand off the bed and held it out to him, and he knew as he cradled it in his that she was with him now.

He didn't say anything at first, just watched those eyes—alive, glistening, and tried to read her mind through them. Finally he whispered, "Hi."

She started to move as if she wanted to speak, and he held out a flat hand and said, "Don't even try to talk." As if she could, but he knew they had already warned her not to try.

Thinking it unfair that he could speak while she couldn't, and not knowing what to say to her anyway, he stayed silent, giving her hand a squeeze as he smiled at her. It seemed as if she smiled through her eyes, and then she gave a weak squeeze back. And, as if that simple action had left her weary, she closed her eyes and relaxed back into sleep.

Part 2.

Flowers filled the room throughout the day—daisies and roses and bright mums with small stuffed bears attached. Her eyes barely flitted open to see them, but they revitalized the place, spreading cheer in a room otherwise filled with nothing but plain bland walls. In the bed, her limp hands sank into the bed, reminding him that her life was still a fragile strand barely clinging to the nearest pillar. He stayed nearby to scaffold her path to recovery.

In the afternoon, they decided to try and remove her from the ventilator, saying the longer she stayed on it, the more chances she would have of developing complications, like pneumonia and other conditions that sounded too scary to think about right now. But the process of removing the ventilator was risky in itself, revealing whether she would be able to breathe on her own or not.

And it would reveal something else as well—how much could her oxygen-deprived brain comprehend, and would she be the same after losing all life signs for several minutes? Would she be the same Olivia as she was before the shooting? If not, he would still stay by her side and give her whatever she needed—he owed her that much. But his soul might be tortured forever if she could no longer function as the Olivia Benson he knew.

"Olivia, we're going to help you sit up now," said her nurse. Olivia's eyes said what her mouth couldn't—she squeezed them shut in anticipation of the fatigue and fear this entire procedure might cause. The nurse got on one side of her and Elliot on the other, and they delicately lifted her by her arms to a sitting position, careful not to disrupt the breathing tube or the IV dangling from her wrist.

After verbally prepping her, the nurse turned off the ventilator and turned on the CPAP without removing the tube from her mouth, and Olivia took a few tentative breaths on her own before opening her eyes and giving a thumbs up sign. Elliot's heart lightened at the sight, not only because she could breathe, but because she showed the first solid signs of communication since before the shooting.

Elliot held her hand for a half-hour while she struggled to stay awake, and after the doctor came in the room and determined her vital signs were strong, he said, "This is it, Olivia. We'll take out the breathing tube, and if everything goes well, you'll be breathing on your own again."

Olivia's eyebrows crowded together in apprehension, but she nodded her readiness. Before he began the procedure, he said, "Would you like some pain medication first?" Olivia shook her head vigorously, and Elliot understood why.

She went from lethargic to terrified, and Elliot squeezed her hand and sat down next to her, saying, "You ready?"

She nodded, and the doctor began to remove the tube. She winced, and as soon as it dislodged from her throat, she coughed and sputtered, and Elliot involuntarily tightened his grip around her hand, leaning forward to help her, although he didn't know what he could do. Glancing up at the doctor, though, he noticed a half-smile on the man's face as he said reassuringly, "That's good. That's normal."

Wrinkles formed around her eyes as she clenched them tightly closed, and she held onto Elliot's hand with a death grip as she gasped for air. Then her face relaxed as her breathing eased into a slow, methodical rhythm. "You okay?" said Elliot.

She opened her eyes, making contact with his finally. She mouthed the word, "Yeah," and allowed her entire body to settle back into the bed. She closed her eyes, her breathing producing a frightening rattling noise, while the nurse and Elliot helped her ease back into a lying position.

At that moment, Fin peeked his head into the doorway and, seeing Elliot, said, "Is this a good time for visitors?"

Nobody but Elliot had visited with her yet due to her fragile condition, and although the doctor nodded his approval, Elliot came to the door to meet him, not wanting to disturb Olivia after her taxing transition into the world of independent breathing. Only when he reached the doorway did he notice Nick standing behind Fin.

He spoke softly to them, saying, "Come in for a few minutes, but she just got off the ventilator, so she's really tired." Lowering his voice, he said, "Plus, they haven't yet determined if there's been any . . . brain damage." He brought his hand up to his forehead with the realization that he still hadn't been able to tell how coherent she really was.

Her gravelly voice stunned him. "I'm in the room, you know."

He turned his head to find her head turned toward them as she watched them, a familiar sparkle reappearing in her eyes. She inhaled sharply between every word as she croaked, "And I'm not dead either."

"That's not funny," he said, approaching her, but he smiled nonetheless.


	26. Chapter 26

_**Author's comments:**__ Sigh. I think y'all might like this one._

**Trouble**

**Chapter 26**

Part 1.

Every word tediously uttered between labored breaths, Olivia said hoarsely, "You guys going to stand around in a huddle, or are you going to visit with me?"

"Shhh, don't talk, Olivia," Elliot said gingerly, scooping her hand up in his when he reached the edge of the bed. Nick and Fin cast uncertain glances at one another, and then followed Elliot's lead and approached her. Her dark eyes sunken into her pallid face, she closed them for a few seconds, the effort of speaking sapping what little energy she had.

"Hey, we just popped in to see you," said Nick, his voice gentle. "We aren't staying."

"Yeah, we figure you probably need to rest," added Fin.

She nodded, following Elliot's orders not to speak. Nick and Fin left a few minutes later, taking Elliot's unspoken cues, and Elliot settled onto the bed next to her. She winced for a second, and he remembered what the doctor had said earlier—she still had a chest tube in place to help her lung stay inflated, and every movement could be painful.

"Sorry," he said.

"It's fine," she whispered.

Lightly brushing his hand over her fragile arm, he thanked the heavens that she was alive, awake, and appeared to be completely coherent. She still looked frail and weary, her eyes barely able to stay open, and he didn't want to keep her from resting, but he had to take advantage of her brief moment of consciousness to let her know how he felt.

"Liv," he said, and she brought her bleary gaze to meet his. "I'm glad you're okay. I was really worried about you."

She opened her mouth to speak, and he stopped her with a finger to his lips, the rattling in her lungs making him anxious. "Save your energy. You can tell me later." She nodded, closing her eyes the rest of the way. He caressed her cheek, hoping she would settle down and rest. "Get some sleep, Liv." And then, as an afterthought, after she obeyed him and let her head settle into the pillow, he said, "Welcome back."

Part 2.

Olivia had so much she wanted to say, so much to share, but found herself silenced by the weakness of her lungs and the enormity of her own fatigue. Besides that, it hurt her brain to think, and she couldn't quite get the thoughts to follow one another in one cohesive unit anyway. Ever since she first opened her eyes and saw him there, she had one thing she wanted to tell him, but she drifted in and out of the awakened world as if it was actually a part of her dreams.

It didn't matter how many times she opened her eyes though, she saw one thing—his welcoming face there with her. Often too tired to even feign consciousness, her skin delighted in the touch of his fingers, and she knew she would make it through the pain and the exhaustion to the other side. Some of his words she heard, and others drifted in and out of her mind like snowflakes, but one phrase stayed with her at all times, "_You're the bravest person I know . . ._"

The events that brought her here, tied to this bed, incapacitated by tubes and machines, appeared in her mind as blurry chunks, sometimes not in the right order. Was she here because of Lewis? No, that legacy had passed some time ago.

No, there had been pills involved, and drinking, and speeding cars, and men with guns. By the time the tube was painfully removed from her throat, she recalled the tall rapist in the interrogation room, and the despair and resolve she had felt stepping into that room, but nothing beyond that point.

Like a bad commercial, she turned that scene off and focused on the loving touch of Elliot's gentle fingers caressing her hair where it met her scalp. He must have thought she was asleep, but she was just cherishing every stroke, using the feeling to keep her mind off the pain in her chest. That one thing, the thing she had to tell him, kept rising to the surface of her mind until she had to open her eyes and let it out.

"Elliot," she whispered, trying to save her damaged voice.

His eyes drew instantly to hers, staring intently as he said, "What is it, Liv?"

"I'm sorry—"

"Shhh . . . don't waste your breath on an apology. Save your energy."

She licked her dry lips. "No, I just wanted to tell you, I'm going to stay."

He narrowed his eyes in confusion as she blinked long and hard, the few words tiring her. But she forced herself to continue. "I want to live, because I want to stay with you."

He nodded, showing her he finally understood, his lips drawing together in a half-smile. "Okay," he whispered back. And then he leaned forward and held her head in a hug, kissing the top of her hair. "Okay, that's good. Thank you for telling me, because I want to keep you around." She could almost hear him smiling.

Part 3.

"Come on, Olivia, you can do this."

Panting deeply, she panicked as her lungs struggled to take in enough oxygen to sustain herself. "I . . . can't," she said, collapsing back into the chair.

"Yes, you can. You have to," he said, trying to urge her to her feet by prying her up by her arm.

She rubbed her weary eyes, giving in to the dead weight of her body and slumping deeper into the chair. "Elliot, leave me alone. I just need a break."

He sighed deeply, surrendering her arm to her. "You're never going to get better if you don't keep trying—"

"I said . . . leave me alone," she huffed, her face snapping upwards to show him her scowl. "I'm tired . . . so tired." Laying her head back on the chair, she closed her eyes and wished she could lie back down on the bed.

It had only been three days since a bullet had pierced her lung, and somehow the doctors expected her to get up and walk, with a chest tube and IV still in place. "They said you need to build up your strength again—stay up as much as you can tolerate. Otherwise you could get blood clots, and you might—"

He stopped, and she knew why finishing the sentence made him uncomfortable. Death was never an easy subject. Patting her hand in the air, she said, "I know, Elliot. I know. But it wears me out just to sit up, and yet I already walked down the hallway once today."

He was silent for a moment, and then he said, "Alright, catch your breath for a few minutes. And then we'll try again."

She used what little breath was left in her lungs to sigh. "No, Elliot. I'm done. Help me back to the bed."

Instead, he stood like a bull sizing up a matador. "Fine. But I thought you said you were done giving up."

Moving gruffly to help her to her feet, he lifted her to standing and shuffled her to the bed, and she bit her lip, trying to stem the flow of tears. When she finally scooted her way onto the bed, relying heavily on his strength to supplement her own, she looked away, not wanting him to see her steadily reddening eyes.

He plopped down to sit next to her, sighing again, but softer this time. Dropping his forehead into his hand, he said harshly, "What's wrong?"

But his tone told her he already knew. "Nothing," she said, refusing to make eye contact. Sinking down into the bed, she whispered, "I want to be alone now. Maybe you should go for a walk without me."

He stared distantly out the window, and then looked at her face, his eyes softening as if noticing for the first time that she was upset. Reaching up to touch her shoulder, he said, "Hey." Tipping her chin in his direction with one finger, he repeated the word. "Hey."

Looking at him directly sent her over the edge, and she finally allowed the hot tears to begin to flow, but it hurt to cry and sapped her already diminished ability to breathe.

"Hey," he whispered, caressing her arm. "I'm sorry. Don't cry—you'll wear yourself out."

She shook her head but stayed quiet, unable to speak at the moment anyway. Finally showing some mercy, he pulled her to him so she could rest her weary head on his shoulder, and she tried not to wince too hard from the pain in her chest. "I'm sorry, Liv. I didn't mean to upset you. I'm just . . . I'm just scared for your health."

Allowing all the anguish to drain into his shoulder with her falling tears, she relaxed and inhaled the sweet air that was so sparse now. "It's okay," she said softly. "I'm just so tired."

"I know," he said, cradling her head against his neck. "And I shouldn't talk to you that way."

"It's my fault anyway," she said, her words muffled by her mouth pressed into his shirt. "I brought all this on myself."

He pushed her back gently as he said, "Hey, no. What you did was courageous, and you deserve a medal, not nagging." She wondered by his words if he realized how suicidal she had been when she entered the interrogation room, prepared to do whatever it took to get Grady, regardless of the consequences. Nonetheless, she allowed him to continue uninterrupted. As he wiped a tear from her cheek, he said, "I've had lots of time to think these last few days, and I realize that I was the one who lacked courage."

He looked down now, keeping one hand embedded in her hair. "You know, Liv, I realize how stupid I was all those years we worked together." She shook her head as he continued. "I didn't really want to stay with Kathy. I cared about her, of course, and I even loved her, but she wasn't the one I carried around in my heart. All those years . . ." He brought his eyes up to meet hers. "It was you."

Her lips pressed together as she suppressed a tearful smile, and he traced the line of her cheekbone with his thumb. "But I was too afraid to leave, and you suffered because of it. Not only that," he said, letting his hand drift up to her hairline to massage her scalp with his fingertips, his voice taking on a wistful tone, "but I took out my frustrations on you. I pushed you away with my anger because I couldn't have you, and I'll never forgive myself for hurting you like that."

She closed her eyes for a second, absorbing the meaning of his words deep into her chest, and somehow they helped her to breathe easier. The corners of her eyes lowering, she nodded and whispered, "Thank you, Elliot. I've always wanted to hear—"

Unable to say the words as she choked up, she stopped, and he filled in her blanks with words of his own. "That I love you? Olivia Benson, I do love you, more than life itself."

Throwing herself against him, she gripped him as tight as she could in her weakened state, grasping at him as if his sturdy frame was the essence of her very existence, sniffing back all the suffering she had endured from his disappearance, letting them evaporate with her tears.


	27. Chapter 27

_**Author's comments:**__ Sorry for taking so long—I was trying to get this scene just right. And I am sorry for this . . . _

**Trouble**

**Chapter 27**

Part 1.

"Just relax, Olivia."

The nurse went about her business, preparing instruments and alcohol wipes and sterile bandages, and she must have noticed the same anxiety on Olivia's face that now radiated down the back of her spine.

"Okay," said the nurse, finally making reassuring eye contact with Olivia. "What I'm going to want you to do is, as soon as we begin to remove the chest tube, you hold your breath, and at the same time blow out, like you're trying to blow air out of your lungs. Think you can do that?"

"Yeah."

"Show me."

Elliot hung a little too closely over her, looking almost as nervous as she felt. He had been at her side every minute over the last few days, helping her walk farther and farther down the hallway. Eventually, she had noticed her breathing lightening, the strength gradually returning to her legs and her lungs, and she was able to speak without getting winded.

Now she blew out, holding her breath at the same time, and the nurse gave a thumbs-up and a smile. Then she said, "Now, this can get a little painful, but don't worry. We'll give you some morphine to help you with that. Most people don't feel a thing."

Olivia shifted in the bed. "Why—why can't they just put me under?"

The nurse nodded at her like a teacher to a student. "Because we have to keep you awake so you can exercise the Valsalva Maneuver, the one I just taught you."

Olivia eyed all the sharp instruments on the cold metal table and said, "No, thanks. I don't want a sedative."

Elliot's head turned toward her so fast she thought it might fly off. "What? Liv, you can't do this without anything for pain—it's going to—"

"I know it's going to hurt, Elliot. Still. I don't want any."

The thought of having a scalpel bear into her skin while fully awake scared the hell out of her. But she had been through torture before—she had lived through Lewis and his unbearable implements of cigarettes and fists and other weapons she couldn't bear the thought of. She could easily take the morphine, but the idea of ingesting another pain medication after almost ending her own life with one didn't sit well with her.

Elliot shook his head and folded his arms, a pout settling on his face. "You don't have to be a martyr, you know. Just take the morphine, Liv."

Her heart pounding and her shoulders suddenly sagging with fatigue, she said, "I really can do this, El. I can handle it."

His eyes took on a serious tone, and she didn't like the way he lowered his chin to talk to her. "C'mon, Liv. You've been through so much pain already. I don't want to watch you suffer anymore."

Sighing heavily, she said, "Okay, fine. I'll do it."

But she regretted giving in as soon as she said the words, and before she knew it, a needle was feeding clear liquid into her IV, and her muscles loosened along with her thoughts. She floated on clouds as she scanned the room, weightlessness lifting her body while she noticed the harsh lines on Elliot's face from all the years of unyielding stubbornness.

"Okay, sit back against the back of the bed," said the nurse.

She did as the nurse requested, her breathing slowing as she lay back against the head of the bed, which the nurse had positioned at an incline. "All the way back. Relax," said Elliot.

She turned her wobbly head toward Elliot, puzzlingly furious, and said, "Fine, Bossypants."

"Liv—" he said, his eyes narrowing in confusion.

"What? I tried to tell you."

"Tried to tell me what?" he said, looking as if he was trying to suppress a chuckle.

"_Tried to tell you this was going to fuck me up_," she thought. "It's not funny," she said instead, not caring that the nurse was in the room. "You like seeing me like this? Why do you have to be so controlling? I didn't want this—I didn't want the drugs. And yet here I am—"

"Liv –calm down, it's okay."

She folded her arms, barely aware that the doctor had entered the room already. "Don't tell me to calm down."

The doctor stepped in, interrupting her rant. "Olivia, we have to start this now. Are you ready?"

She nodded, whispering, "Yeah," while she unfolded her arms. The doctor pushed aside her gown enough to find the dressing covering the chest tube, cutting it off with a pair of scissors.

Elliot winced when he saw the open wound, and Olivia kept her woozy yet angry eyes on him. "Okay, remember the procedure I showed you?" said the nurse. When Olivia nodded, she said, "Okay, hold your breath and blow."

Olivia did it, and then grimaced in pain when the doctor pulled the tube out. Her hands shook, and she cursed every lie a doctor or nurse had ever told her. But a few seconds later, she forgot about the pain, too focused on Elliot's troubled face. "You okay?" he said, resting a hand on her shoulder.

"Yeah, fine," she said, scowling at him. "See, I told you I could have done it without the medication. Now I have to sleep this crap off."

She almost caught him rolling his eyes, but looked up just in time to see him say the words, "I'm sorry you're upset."

"I don't want you to be sorry that I'm mad. I want you to be sorry for telling me what to do." As an afterthought, she said, "Again."

The doctor finished quickly, giving her hasty instructions before leaving the room. The nurse patched up the gaping hole next to her ribs and started to pack up too. Olivia rolled onto her uninjured side, barely noticing how much better it felt to have out the chest tube.

Elliot leaned over, patting her on the back, and said, "You still mad at me?"

She glared at him without lifting her head off the pillow. "Don't patronize me, Elliot. I'm drugged, not stupid."

Creases formed on his forehead. "But aren't you glad you didn't have to feel the pain?"

She bolted upright in the bed, slinging her legs over the side of it. "You should lay down," he insisted.

Ignoring the searing sting in her chest, she rose to her feet and stood eye to eye with him, trying not to sway. "You should stay out of it," she said, catching her balance as she turned to walk away from him. "I can make my own decisions, Elliot."

"Not when you're like this," he said, stepping toward her.

She swung around to face him again. "Like what? Drugged? Weakened? Vulnerable? Sometimes I think you like me this way, so you have a reason to tell me what to do."

He started to reach for her wrist to calm her down, but she yanked it away from him before he could touch her. "Quit trying to control me, Elliot. You always have, and it ends now."

He half-smirked, lifting one corner of his mouth, shaking his head. "I'm not going to get into this when you're half out of your mind. We can talk about it later."

But she was on a roll, ready to tell him all the things she never had the courage to say. "You admitted it to me, Elliot. You said yourself that you used your anger to push me away, that you intentionally hurt me—"

"Not intentionally—"

"But you used me, Elliot. All those years," she said, pointing an insistent finger at him as her voice rose to a yell. "All those years you bitched me out, first you blamed me when things went wrong and then you took your rage out on me."

He ran a hand over his head. "Liv, please sit down. I'm not telling, I'm just asking—"

"That's right, because you don't get to tell me anything, not the man who ran away the minute things got tough, leaving me after _twelve years_ together, without so much as a goodbye. You said I'm courageous, and you know what? You're right. _I'm _the courageous one. I'm the one who stuck it out. I'm the one who worked my way up to sergeant, and to leading an entire SVU unit. And I deserve some respect and deference out of you, after all this time."

His nostrils flared as he contemplated all she had to say. Finally, he looked straight into her hazy eyes with missiles in his own and said, "Okay, and I respect that. But tell me this. If it was so horrible being my partner all those years, why did you stay with me?"

She hesitated, tilting her head to the side. "You know what?" she said softly. "You're right. It _was_ my choice. It's been my choice all along. And it still is." Dropping onto the side of the bed, she said, "But I don't have to put up with it anymore."

Elliot folded his arms and sighed. "Oh, and I guess all the time I've spent being there for you since I came back means nothing."

"Yeah," she said, her words and thoughts starting to run together. "Because _you're_ the one who got to decide to come back. It was all your decision, while I waited, not knowing if I would ever see you again."

His voice dropped to a whisper. "At least I came back." He sighed, dropping his arms as his voice softened. "Look, Liv. I know it hasn't always been easy between us, and I know a lot of it is my fault. But please, do me one favor. Will you just please not make any big decisions until the medicine wears off?"

After considering his request through the fog in her brain, she finally nodded and whispered, "Yeah," and lay down to let her weary mind drift off to sleep, noticing his hand as it cautiously rested against the back of her head.


	28. Chapter 28

_**Author's comments:**__ Wow. Sorry, y'all. I just spent the entire day yesterday puking my guts out (I guess I should be careful what I write about, it seems to come true all too often), and eight very interesting yet tormented hours at the ER. Good thing I wrote most of this chapter the night before last._

**Trouble**

**Chapter 28**

Part 1.

"One more, please."

"Oh, hey. Elliot," said Nick, pulling up a barstool next to him. "Surprised to see you here, after all the time you've been spending at the hospital."

Elliot gulped down about half of the whiskey in one shot and then thumped the glass down on the counter. "I had to get out of there for a while," he said, feeling guilty that he had left her there all alone. But he doubted that she would wake up anytime soon. "Forget my troubles."

Nick nodded his understanding, but Elliot said, "How many times have I gotten onto Olivia for doing just that? But I guess that's what got me into trouble to begin with."

"Something happen?"

"Yeah, she laid into me pretty hard. But she was also heavily sedated, getting her chest tube out." He rubbed his nose. "But I guess I deserved it."

"She'll forgive you," said Nick, sipping from his beer. "When she comes out of it she won't remember any of it."

Elliot shook his head, speaking softly, a heavy weight bearing down on his chest. "I don't know, man. She's still pretty pissed off at me for disappearing on her, and I can't say I blame her."

Nick weighed his words carefully, and then said, "If there's one thing I know about Liv, it's that she has a good heart. And she recognizes that in other people too, and she's pretty patient with the ones she sees."

Elliot clenched his jaw and clamped his lips together. "I don't know. I don't know if I deserve her forgiveness."

Nick put a reassuring hand on his shoulder. "Hey, man. Do you even know how much you've helped her since you got back? I mean, God—you saved her life. That's gotta mean something, huh?"

"I suppose."

"Not only that, but you've been there by her side through this whole thing. If I can see that, I'm sure she recognizes it too."

Elliot brought the glass to his lips once more and whispered, "Yeah. I hope you're right."

Part 2.

Olivia panicked the moment she woke to find an empty chair next to her. Still groggy from the morphine, she sat up and rubbed her droopy eyes, shielding them from the blossoming sunlight. What had she said during the procedure?

She recalled bits and pieces in increasing horror.

" . . . _the man who ran away the minute things got tough, leaving me after twelve years together, without so much as a goodbye . . ."_

". . . _you used me, Elliot. All those years_ . . ."

" . . . _It's been my choice all along. And it still is. . ."_

Burying her face in her hands, she contemplated these words. Had she really meant them? She hadn't realized the fury that resided in her, consumed by years of resentment and hurt feelings that she used her work to bury, replacing the grief of losing her man. And where did that leave them?

And then a more immediate question arose: Was he gone for good? Was it too late to make up for the sting of her hurtful words? She sat up, flopping from her bed to "his" chair, burying her face in the crook of her arm.

"Is this a good time, Olivia?"

The familiar voice snapped her back to attention. "Dr. Lindstrom?" she said, sitting up straight.

"Hi there," he said, smiling as she stood to greet him.

She padded to him, opening her arms to embrace him, resting her head on his shoulder. "You couldn't have come at a better time," she said.

"Good," he said, patting her on the back. "I'm sorry I keep missing you. I keep coming in at different times, but it seems like you're either asleep or having a procedure done. I came in last night, and—"

"I had my chest tube taken out," she said, backing up to sit on the bed. "I'm fine, though."

He sat down in the chair, taking her cue. "So, you're doing alright, then?"

"Yeah, I'm—" she said, the words catching in her throat. "Yeah."

After a pause that felt awkward, she said, "I just wanted to tell you, Doctor—"

"After all this time, you can call me Peter, Olivia," he said gently.

She closed her mouth, and then said, "Peter. I just wanted to say . . ." She dropped her gaze to the floor. "I'm sorry for what I put you through. I . . ."

As she struggled for the right words, he said, "It's okay, Olivia. I'm the one who should be sorry. I wish I had done more—"

"No," she said, resolutely shaking her head. "No, it's all on me. It was my decision and . . . I should have never done what I did."

She knew he could easily say, "_Which part? There were so many . . ._" But instead, he said, "Olivia, you were depressed. And you were hopeless, and that's a sign that you needed help, not something to be ashamed of."

Her eyes glistened and started to well up. "Still—I really am sorry. You must have been terrified."

"Thank you for recognizing that, Olivia. But I'm just glad that you're . . ." She wondered if he was going to finish the sentence, and then he said, "I'm glad you're still here."

"Me too," she whispered, flashing him a tearful smile.

"So," he said, dropping his clasped hands into his lap. "What's going on with you today? You seem upset."

She nodded. "I think I might have chased Elliot away for good."

As she related the things she had said in her drugged stupor, at least the parts she could remember, she realized just how much rage she had suppressed. "And I'm not sure where all this anger rose from," she ended.

"Well, he did abandon you. You know what kind of issues that brings up for you."

"Yeah, but that doesn't give me the right to yell at him the way I did," she said, wiping her cheeks.

"But your feelings are valid, Olivia. If he really did the things you've told me about, he _was_ being controlling, and you have every right to be mad."

"So, are you saying I should break it off with him?" The words brought a boulder of grief to her chest.

"No, not at all," said the doctor. "But you have to first recognize the pockets of resentment you carry with you if you're going to work on healing them with Elliot."

She grew silent, contemplating his words. "You know," she said softly. "He did say something that made sense to me. If he was so awful to me, why did I stay? Why did I put up with that for all those years?"

"That sounds like victim-blaming to me. He had no right to act controlling—"

"No, but that's missing the point," she said, scuffing a fuzzy house slipper against the tile floor. "It was my choice to hold onto him all along, and I didn't even recognize that I had a choice. It makes me think that maybe I've had other choices, like choosing to allow Lewis to invade my head." She sighed, looking around the room as she searched for the right words. "Now I'm starting to wonder if I can choose not to focus so much on what he did to me. I mean, I know I'm going to have flashbacks, and my body is going to react. But what if I can take control of my thoughts, turn them around to something else?"

"You know, Olivia, I think my work is over here," he grinned. She gave him a wide-eyed, baby fawn look, and he quickly said, "I'm just kidding, Olivia. All I'm trying to say is that it seems like you've had some valuable insights, all on your own."

As she nodded, a knock came from the door. She did a double-take when she saw Elliot leaning against the door frame. He stood up straight. "I'm sorry, I didn't realize—"

"It's okay, Elliot," said Dr. Lindstrom. "I think it's probably time for me to go."

"Doctor—" she said, quickly catching herself. "I mean, Peter, I have a favor to ask you before you leave."

"What is it, Olivia?"

"Would you mind to stay for a few minutes, and talk to me and Elliot together?"


	29. Chapter 29

_**Author's comments:**__ This may be my favorite chapter of all times._

**Trouble**

**Chapter 29**

Dr. Lindstrom turned his head toward Elliot. "Well, it's fine by me. I have done some couples counseling in the past. But I guess it's really up to Elliot."

Elliot's mouth dropped open, and he stuttered, "I—I guess it couldn't hurt."

"Okay," said the doctor decisively. "Let's have you bring that chair over there," he said, pointing to an unused chair sitting against the opposite wall, "and set it facing across from Olivia, so you two can see each other as you talk."

Elliot gulped, but he did as the doctor requested, and the chair made a loud scraping noise as he settled it into exactly the right position. He and Olivia made wary eye contact, and she couldn't help but notice that he seemed to be sweating a little more than usual.

Dr. Lindstrom looked at Olivia. "Do you want to start first?"

"Sure," she said, and Elliot cleared his throat. Olivia leaned forward and spoke softly, trying to sound as sincere as possible. "First of all, I just want to tell you, I'm really sorry for the things I said to you last night. I was—"

"You were a little out of it, I know," said Elliot.

Dr. Lindstrom held up a hand and said, "Elliot, let her finish."

Elliot nodded and tried to lean back and settle into his chair. Olivia continued. "I didn't mean—well, I did mean some—"

She stopped and sighed, and Dr. Lindstrom said, "Take your time, Olivia."

She glanced at the doctor, and then focused her attention back on Elliot. "What I mean to say is, I guess I have some built-up resentment toward you, especially because of the way you left."

"I kind of guessed that," said Elliot, sarcasm escaping into his tone.

"Elliot," interjected the doctor. "Olivia is making a sincere effort to strengthen your relationship, it would help if you took it seriously—"

"I know, I know. I'm sorry," said Elliot genuinely. "It was just really hard to hear, the way she said it last night."

"I know, and I'm sorry, Elliot," she said, dropping her hands between her knees. "It's exactly because I haven't talked to you about it that it's coming out in other ways, and that's partially my fault."

He nodded, and she continued. "It's just that, when we were partners, there were times that I didn't feel like equals. In fact, I felt . . . inferior."

Elliot scooted to the edge of his seat. "But was that really—"

"Elliot," said Dr. Lindstrom. "Let Olivia talk. Part of learning to communicate with one another is showing her that you're listening to what she has to say."

Elliot glanced nervously at the doctor, his mouth partially open, obviously wanting very badly to say something. Finally, he settled back and looked at her. "Go ahead."

Olivia looked down at her hands. "When you left, I was devastated. But I pulled through, and then I began to grow. And even after Lewis got ahold of me the first time, I managed to not only recover, but . . ." she said, bringing her eyes up again to meet his. "Thrive, even. I worked my way up to sergeant, and I became a strong, independent person. Or at least, I liked to see myself that way."

Elliot's eyebrows lowered in contemplation as she went on. "But then Lewis pulled this shit on me again, even worse this time," she said, beginning to tear up, "and you just happened to show up out of the blue at my lowest point. And yeah, you saved my life, and you stood by my side through all of the worst of my shit."

He nodded, his mouth tightening. She began to rock back on forth on the edge of the bed. "And yet . . . and yet somehow it wasn't fulfilling for me, because there you were again, rescuing me, and here I was, feeling weak and less-than once again."

Elliot opened his mouth, and then quickly closed it again, glancing at Dr. Lindstrom, as if wondering whether he would ever get a chance to speak. She wiped a tear from her cheek and continued. "But I do appreciate everything you've done for me, and I'm really glad you're back again. I love you, and I want this to work, I just might need a little help and a lot of patience." Glancing at Dr. Lindstrom, she said, "I guess that's all I have to say."

The doctor nodded at her, a faint smile on his lips, and then turned to Elliot. "Okay Elliot, what do you have to say to that?"

Elliot clenched his lips, pausing before he said, "I'm just curious, what exactly is it about me that makes you feel inferior? Because I thought I treated us as equals. At least I always tried to . . ."

Olivia rolled her eyes up to the ceiling, trying to think of an answer that wouldn't offend him too much. "Maybe . . . maybe it was the way you blamed me for that little boy getting killed, or—"

"You still hold that against me?"

"Or the way you always took control of situations, or—or the way you used to question my judgment all the time. Or maybe the way you excluded me from every part of your life except work, throwing me a crumb whenever you felt like it—"

"Really?" said Elliot, his voice rising. "Because the way I remember it—"

"Let's just stop there for a second," said Dr. Lindstrom. He turned his attention to Olivia. "Olivia, when you're talking to Elliot, it helps to be more specific. It's not going to help the situation if you make broad, sweeping generalizations."

She dropped her head and whispered, "Okay."

Elliot sighed. Dr. Lindstrom said, "I realize there's a long history between you two. And there's going to be wounds that haven't healed yet. But the key to healing those wounds is to show each other, going forward, that things can be different between you. That you aren't going to repeat the same patterns over and over. And communication is the key."

Elliot's face softened. "Yeah, okay."

"Elliot, I assume you have more you want to say?" said the doctor, leaning forward to rest his forearms on his knees.

"Yeah," said Elliot softly. "Yeah, Olivia, I don't know how you made me out to be the bad guy here—"

"Elliot, can you frame that as an 'I' statement instead?" said Dr. Lindstrom.

Elliot looked up at him, and then said, "I feel like you think of me as the enemy, when the reality is, I'm the biggest supporter in your corner." She nodded, wanting to speak up to confirm what he had just said, but also knowing she needed to give him a chance to finish. He clasped his hands together and said, "I know I hurt you really bad, and I don't think I'll ever forgive myself for that, even if you do. And sometimes I even wonder if I was partly to blame for you becoming suicidal . . ."

Chills ran down her spine as she realized this was the first time he had addressed her suicide attempt. She sprang to her feet and went to him, sitting down on his lap as his eyes widened in surprise. "No . . . no, absolutely not, Elliot." She put a hand up to his face and caressed his cheek as she said, "I was depressed about what happened with Lewis, and I still had really bad PTSD symptoms, and I was at my wit's end. It had nothing to do with you, I promise."

He smiled a sad smile. "Good." And then, glancing at Dr. Lindstrom, he said, "I just have one more question."

"Go ahead," she said.

"I was just wondering—why were you so mad at me last night? Why were you so angry that I wanted you to take the morphine?"

She stood now, turning her back to him as she walked back toward the bed. "Because . . . because I'm addicted to painkillers now, and I didn't want that feeling again. I didn't want to be tempted—"

She stopped, bringing a hand to her mouth. From behind her, she heard Dr. Lindstrom say, "Okay. I suspected as much, Olivia. It's alright. Probably just a product of your trauma, just a way to cope with it. We can deal with that."

She nodded and turned to sit on the bed, hesitantly checking out Elliot's reaction. Surprised by the sympathy apparent on his face instead of the condensation she had expected, she said, "I'm sorry, Elliot. I really am."

Now he rose, taking the few steps he needed to reach her side, and placed a gentle hand on her shoulder. "No, I'm sorry. I'm sorry for everything that happened to you. And I'm sorry I wasn't there for you sooner." He sat down next to her and put his arm around her. "It's completely understandable that you would freak out for a while. But I still mean what I said—you're the strongest, most courageous person I know. And if anyone can make it through something like this, you can."

Her eyebrows crowded together as she made eye contact with him, and as a tear began to escape the corner of her eye, she leaned forward and planted a tender kiss on his lips, pulling away only to utter the words, "Thank you, Elliot."

Dr. Lindstrom stood. "Okay, well now I _know _my work is done."

She cast a dreamy smile in his direction. "Thank you . . . Peter."

"Yes, thanks Doc," said Elliot.

"My pleasure, Olivia," he said, smiling back at her. Raising his eyebrows, he added, "And Elliot. I'd be happy to talk to you two any time you feel the need."


	30. Chapter 30

_**Author's comments:**__ It's a long one, but I had to fit it all in one chapter. It just had to all go together. And yes . . . sigh. It's the last. _

**Trouble**

**Chapter 30**

Part 1.

"Detective Stabler, in my office. Now."

He sighed, hanging his jacket on the back of his chair. Before reluctantly turning toward her office, Nick smiled and said, "She sounds pissed. What'd you do this time?"

"No idea," he said somber-faced as he walked tentatively to her door.

Standing in the doorway, his hands lining the frame, he said, "What is it?"

Her face solemn, she organized some papers on her desk as she said, "Close the door."

As he turned to obey her command, she fished for her phone in her purse and said, "Would you mind to close those?" and pointed to the blinds.

"_Crap_," he thought.

Before he could turn to face her, he heard music playing, and he spun around to find her setting her phone on the desk, a song flowing out of its speakers.

_Give me love like her,  
>'Cause lately I've been waking up alone,<br>Paint splattered teardrops on my shirt,  
>Told you I'd let them go<em>

"What are you . . . doing?" he asked, noticing for the first time that she was now smiling with her eyes, seductively blocked part-way by a lock of her hair.

_Give a little time to me or burn this out,  
>We'll play hide and seek to turn this around,<br>All I want is the taste that your lips allow_

"Well," she said, the corners of her lips starting to rise. "I thought, since you didn't get a chance to go dancing with me that one time . . ." She took a detour around her desk and settled in front of him, resting her arms around his neck. Her voice lightened to a flirty tone, and with a slight flip of her hair, she said, "Maybe we could . . . make up for it?"

He tried to stand solid, but his arms and legs began to melt into a puddle. "Right now?"

Her eyes narrowed, and she started to ruffle her hands over his fuzzy close-cropped hair. "Right . . . now," she said, leaning in to whisper it into his ear as her feet began to shuffle slowly back and forth.

"Mmm," he said, shivering as he wrapped his arms around her. Pressing his cheek against hers, he began to sway with her, rocking gently back and forth. "You're sweaty," he laughed.

"Sorry, just got done with martial arts lessons."

"In the middle of the day?"

"I went during lunch. In fact," she said, slipping off her suit jacket to reveal a silky black tank top underneath, "I'm still a little warm."

Unable to resist the feel of her skin anymore, he slid his fingers over the back of her shoulder, gradually dragging them up her neck so he could fondle her hair. "Sexy," he whispered in her ear.

They danced slowly under the fluorescent lights, and he counted back. It had been three months since the shooting, and she seemed to flourish since then. She had even settled back into her job nicely, having received multiple accolades for taking down the rapist-gone-rogue in this very building. And they hadn't fought lately, despite all the strange new twists in their joint lives. Instead, they were learning to talk through their problems, resisting every urge to yell over one another.

But there had been one area that had yet to develop—their love life. It drove him crazy to be around her all the time and never experience her completely, but he was not about to pressure her. First of all, he wasn't that kind of guy. He would wait it out until the end of time, although he hoped it wouldn't be much longer. But more importantly, she needed patience right now more than anything else—he knew it for sure after what had happened the last time they tried to make love.

Now he just enjoyed nestling her in his arms, her head resting against his shoulder as they fell into the music, turning slightly as they danced.

_My, my, my, my, oh give me love,  
>My, my, my, my, oh give me love<em>

She lifted her head to look at him, and the brilliant sparkle in her eyes reminded him of dark diamonds. Reaching up to touch the silk of her hair, he whispered, "I love you, Olivia."

She smiled, the corners of her eyes turning down as she said, "I love you, too, Elliot."

He took his hand off her neck long enough to touch her glistening lips, and she closed her eyes to show her pleasure. And then she used those lips on him, bringing them to his mouth to grace him with a kiss, sending a chill down the base of his spine. He kissed her back, leaning into her until she was against the desk. There they stood, pressed together, their souls joined together by the mouth, and he got so lost in the moment that he barely noticed the knock on the door.

Apparently, neither did she, because she ignored it, until finally the door cracked open and her head snapped in the direction of the door while Elliot backed up quickly, looking down at the floor. Amanda stood there with a wide-eyed grin, saying, "I'm—I'm so sorry. I just . . . you have Deputy Chief Dodds waiting for you—"

Olivia stood straight up and yanked on her jacket. "He's here?"

"Yeah," said Amanda, still smiling. "I won't tell him—I'll just tell him you were in a meeting—"

"Yeah, yeah. Thanks," said Olivia, casting one last glance back at Elliot before wiping her lips and darting out of her office.

Part 2.

Olivia rolled over onto her belly in the dark, yawning as she watched Elliot emerge in the doorway of their bedroom. A few months ago, this simple action of his would have caused her to jump out of bed, but her nerves had calmed to a bearable level. He had moved in a few weeks ago, bringing his stuff from L.A., and his kids had even come to visit a couple of times, happy that it was Olivia he had chosen, even if he had moved farther away.

Now he stripped down to his underwear and crawled into bed with her, and he said, "So, you never told me, did the meeting go well?"

She sighed. "Yeah, Chief Dodds can be a hard-ass sometimes."

He began to massage her nearly-bare shoulders, and she groaned in pleasure, saying,

"Thanks, El." Thinking back to the baked chicken dinner he had made her tonight, she said, "I really appreciate this, and everything you've done for me tonight. Brian would have never—" She stopped herself, realizing what a mistake it was to bring up that name. "I'm sorry, I don't mean to compare."

She could almost hear him smiling as he kneaded her shoulders. "It's fine. As long as you're telling me I'm better than him, I'm fine with that."

She rolled over onto her back and brought her hands up to his shoulders now. She didn't say it, but she thought, "_Well let's find out_." Instead she said, "As long as you don't pack up your stuff and leave just a few months after moving in."

He shook his head and whispered, "Never." Leaning in to kiss her forehead as he wrapped an arm around her neck, he said, "Once I make a commitment, you can't get rid of me."

A smile flirted with her lips. "Is that what this is, a commitment?"

He gently nudged her hair away from her eyes. "Of course. I wouldn't think to leave you all alone now, with the obligations you—I mean, we have."

Her lips curled upward, her eyes moistening as she leaned in to thank him with her lips against his. He kissed her back, but she could feel him hanging back, clearly indecisive. Wrapping her hands around his back, she dug her fingers into his toned muscles and pulled him to her, almost knocking him off balance.

Now she pressed hard into him—her lips, her tongue, her body, and she became breathless, but only in the best of ways. Pulling away to taste the life-giving air around her once more, she peered into his curiousity-filled eyes, and an irresistible urge came over her to become one with him. She wanted to be more than just wrapped up in his arms, she wanted to be an actual part of him, and that desire filled her from the base of her spine all the way to her feet.

Grasping at him like he _was _the very air she needed, she pulled him down on top of her, and he stared, wide-eyed, like he was afraid to misread any possible cues. She brought his head close to her and whispered in his ear, "Elliot, I want you."

He gulped and said, "You sure—"

"Shhh—"

She began making faint lipstick tracks all over his face with her mouth, moving down to his neck, her body rising up to slide against his almost-naked body at the same time, until he groaned in pleasure.

Her hands glided down his skin to his waist, her thumbs hooking his boxer-briefs so she could remove them from him. Finally, he accepted that this was really happening, and he began to work on her clothing as well. But then he sat up, staring her up and down with his head cocked to the side.

"What is it, El?" she said quietly.

He shook his head and descended on her again, saying, "You're just . . . so beautiful, like a work of art."

Looking up into his eyes, she said, "Well then, come despoil me," and she pulled him to her again, surrendering herself to him.

And he took her, capturing her mouth with his lips and her breasts with his hands as she gulped in the smell of him, aftershave and sweat all mixed together. But he didn't ravish her—instead, he delicately fondled her like a collector holding a piece of fine china in his hands. His eyes searched her as he entered her, and she rewarded him with a gasp and closed her eyes, feeling the ease with which he claimed her.

Their bodies moved together naturally, dancing in the soft sheets, choreographed by their joined desire. Fearless now, she relaxed into the feel of him, her body responding first with pangs of heat throughout her thighs, gradually growing and expanding up to the base of her spine and all the way down to her ankles. Love radiated with pleasure, and the mixture of the two created ecstasy, until she lost her breath one last time in a final quivering moment of bliss.

Opening them now, she saw him watching her in his last few thrusts of glory before he joined her in climax, and he kept watching her as he stroked her hair, marveling at her contentment. He lay there, not moving, on top of her, and then he panted, "Did you . . . enjoy that?"

"I loved it, El," she whispered. "And I love you."

He sighed, and she couldn't tell if it was a sigh of weariness or of relief, but he said, "I love you too, Liv."

He rolled to her side and clasped her to him, and she snuggled up against his chest, ready to drift off into a peaceful sleep after their victorious union. But a noise caused her eyes to spring open, and she tightened her grip on him and said, "What was that, El?"

"Probably nothing," he said as he got up and slipped on his underwear. "I'll go check."

After he left the room, Olivia quickly yanked on her pajamas and began to get up the courage to go in after him. Remembering the extra gun she carried in the house for protection, she began to go to the gun safe to retrieve it, but was interrupted by Elliot and a tiny squeak.

"It was just this little guy," she heard Elliot say as she turned to face them.

She exhaled and tilted her head. "Noah," she said, her voice turning motherly. "What are you doing up?"

As she approached them, Elliot bouncing the baby boy on his hip, he said, "I think he just wanted his mama." Elliot made his cutest googly face at Noah, and the boy smiled. Elliot nodded at Noah. "That's what you said, wasn't it? You said, 'I just want the mama. Not you, just the mama.'"

Smiling as she swept Noah away from him, she said, "Well, I'm right here. Let's go rock for a bit and see if we can get you back to sleep."

She glanced up at Elliot to see him smiling at her now, and he brought his hand up to her hair to give it one last tousle as he said, "You're the best mama ever."

"Thank you," she whispered, knowing that he truly meant it. She leaned forward and gave him a kiss on the lips before taking her baby back to his room to try and settle him into a dream-filled sleep.


End file.
